Page 19

“Come.” My father’s voice is muffled through the wood.
He doesn’t control your life anymore, I remind myself.
I open the door.
Dad is sitting at his desk with a portfolio open in front of him and a sleek black laptop off to the side. He wears his usual expertly tailored suit and a navy tie. There’s a lot more gray in his salt-and-pepper hair, and the lines around his eyes are starker. He still has that regal bearing, though, the wide set of his shoulders, the jut of his square chin, that haughty pride that declares he’s an Everton.
He looks up at me and I see some emotion flicker in his eyes but it’s too brief to read. He closes the portfolio with a dull thud.
For a moment, we just stare at each other in silence. I can’t help the way my pulse kicks up a notch. This man had power over me for so long.
“So,” he says, his deep voice evoking a hundred childhood memories. “You’ve come back.”
I nod tersely then close the door behind me. I stride over to the window that overlooks 56thStreet. There are two ergonomic chairs in front of his desk but I don’t feel like sitting.
I won’t be here long. I’m paying my penance and then it’s back to Magnolia Bay.
“Where have you been?” my father demands.
It’s the same question Isla posed.
“Working,” I say simply.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t care what you believe, Dad.”
My father frowns, his brow furrowing. His eyes glitter darkly, like onyx. “You will not speak to me that way.”
“Or else what?” I challenge him. “You’ll take away my inheritance?”
My father’s frown deepens. “Don’t be glib.”
“I’m not,” I say. “You were the one who told me to start taking my life seriously. Do you remember? Do you remember that talk we had before the party? When you insisted that I marry and pop out some kids before I would be allowed to inherit the estate?” The memory brings back a wave of anger.
“Of course I remember,” Dad says impatiently. “Rehashing the past does not interest me. The only thing that matters now is that you’re back. I’ll have Alistair send out a press release. Announce to the shareholders that?—”
“Stop it,” I snap. “You’re not listening. I’m notback, Dad. I’m not staying.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” my father says with a wave of his hand. “Of course you’re staying. You are my oldest son and Everton needs?—”
I stride over to the desk and plant my hands on it, looming above him. “You need to listen tomenow, Dad. I’m never going to run Everton. I don’t want my inheritance. I haven’t even touched your money since the first year I was in Argentina. I support myself now.” I see a flash of something that might be approval on Dad’s face. “I only came back so that Mom’s case wouldn’t get shoved in basement and forgotten.”
My father’s mouth twists into a sneer. “So now you have decided to care about the death of your mother? You didn’t seem to take that into account when you left.”
I flinch. “You gave me no choice.”
“Please. Are you not tired of blaming me for everything? Take some responsibility for yourself. Be a man.”
My jaw clenches. Iloathethat phrase.
“You don’t get to control my life anymore, Dad,” I warn him. “I’m free. I’m done.” A thought occurs to me. “What is Von doing working at a law firm? You told me you’d name her heir if I failed to live up to your expectations.”
My father’s eyes trace down to my jeans and T-shirt. “Failed indeed,” he says dryly.
I hate how much it still hurts. All those miles, all those years, and he still has the power to cut me down.
I strengthen my resolve. He’s dodging the question. “Why not name Von the heir to Everton?” I say again.