Page 33 of Accidentally Mine

Roselynn

I rolled over in bed the following morning and stared up at the cottage cheese ceiling of my little bedroom, a lead weight upon my chest. I’d brought back with me the things I wanted to keep from my dad’s, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

After today, I had just one more day. And then I would have to leave.

I’d told myself I would make these three days amazing. Instead, I’d done nothing but ignore Brent. Brent, the person who had made me feel like I could have a normal life.

I sighed as I picked up my phone and realized it’d blown up on silent while I’d been lying there.

There was a message from my self-publishing platform.

A voicemail from the rehab center to tell me the rehab’s schedule.

Tomorrow, Saturday, was Bingo day—whoopee!

Another email from Steve. And, of course, a text from Brent.

I stared at it: Hey. You ok?

I typed in a curt reply, my finger hovering over the Send button.

As much as I wanted to respond, I didn’t think he’d like the answer.

I wasn’t okay, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Being a man, he’d probably try, as it was in men’s nature to not just be a sounding board but to try and fix problems. But if he tried to fix this particular problem, he’d learn just what I did—you don’t escape someone as powerful as Anthony Markin.

I didn’t need to put another person I cared about on his hit list.

So I’d been ignoring Brent while turning the conversation I’d had with my aunt over and over again in my mind. She was right. I needed closure. I needed to explain what I was doing, why I was leaving, and why we couldn’t be together. He deserved that.

Except every time I saw him, all I could think about was how good we would be together. I knew, when I looked in his eyes, I wouldn’t be able to tell him goodbye.

And if I couldn’t do that, I’d just be putting him in more danger. I’d nearly killed him once. They said you couldn’t escape fate. I didn’t want my destiny to be to finish the job.

I deleted my unsent message and opened the email from Steve.

This message is my fourth attempt to contact the daughter of Lyndon Reece.

Because I am your father’s business partner and his half of the business is now yours, we need to have a discussion to see how you would like to proceed, as nothing can be done until you’ve made your wishes known.

Please contact me at the phone number below at your earliest convenience.

I’d never wanted to be involved with my father’s construction business.

The most I’d done was help keep the books on my summers off from school.

When I saw myself as an architect, as much as I loved my dad, I’d never expected to work under him or with him—I’d wanted to go out on my own.

Now, I knew I never would be a part of Reece Associates.

As far as I was concerned, Steve could buy me out and have it all.

My father died three weeks ago, and I’d come to Boston about a week later. When I flew into Logan Airport, I’d worried that I’d have an X on my back from the moment I landed and had looked everywhere for the Markin clan’s henchmen.

Anthony used to parade around with an entourage of men who’d lick his boots and die for him, and I thought those men would be after me. I’d thought possibly that they’d even killed my father to lure me back home, knowing that Anthony would be out and would want his revenge.

But as time went on, I’d let my guard down.

Still, the danger was always looming. The Markins were so powerful. I hadn’t been wearing an “I’m back” sign on my forehead, but it wouldn’t be hard to find me. If they’d wanted to do something to me, they would’ve done it by now.

Wouldn’t they have?

I didn’t know. All I knew was that when Anthony did get out of prison, there’d be no hiding. He’d have to find me. Anthony wasn’t the kind of man to just let things go.

Sighing, I found Steve’s number on the bottom of the email and called him. He answered right away. “Hi, Steve,” I said. “It’s Ro…” I coughed and corrected myself. It’s Rebecca. Lyndon’s daughter. I received your email.”

“Rebecca!” A moment of stunned silence followed, then he sputtered my name again before saying, “I’m so glad you called.

Can you come to the office to meet with me?

We really do need to discuss the future of Reece Associates.

It’s been percolating a little while and there are some things that you need to know. ”

“Yes. That’s fine. I’m in a bit of a rush to get back home. Can we meet this morning?”

“Great. Say, ten? Your father’s main office is in a trailer now housed at the building site for Red Line Village.”

I agreed to that, ended the call, and went to get myself ready.

My father’s construction business had really bloomed right where he’d grown up, only a few blocks east of his house in South Boston, and now many of the commercial projects in this section of town had his mark on them. I could walk to the building site for his latest venture.

Checking over my shoulder as I walked, I went to the large construction trailer in a vacant, weedy lot in a run-down section of town.

This newly cleared space, once an old junk car lot, was supposed to be the site for the construction of a new South Boston strip mall, which had been scheduled to begin in the summer.

When I climbed the wooden stairs, the front door was open, and the lights were on.

My father was never one to decorate, and his old office lobby proved that.

It was a cramped room of sixties-style metal desks, task chairs, and outdated computers.

Looking at this trailer, filled with file cabinets and wood paneling and yellowed wallpaper from decades ago, one would never think that my father’s business was successful.

But it spoke of who he was, completely no-nonsense.

He could have afforded a home in one of the best areas in Boston, but he preferred to stay in the tiny home he’d shared with my mom.

Looking around at the piles of paper, it felt like my father was all over this place. I tried my best not to shed a tear when a bald man with thick glasses came out of my father’s office.

“Rebecca…” he said, extending his hand.

I nodded and pressed my palm against his. “It’s nice to see you again.”

I’d met him only a handful of times, years before.

My father was a construction man, through and through, and knew little about business.

He’d partnered with Steve a few years in because he had no idea how to handle the marketing and financials and the actual business end of his company.

So my father had dealt with the clients and the work, and Steve had become his behind-the-scenes man.

“Yes.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Finally.”

I felt like he wanted me to apologize as he motioned me toward my father’s office. So I did. “I’m sorry. I’ve been very busy with everything, being that it was so unexpected,” I said as I followed him through the door.

I had to hold on to the doorjamb as the seat my father had occupied behind his paper-covered desk came into view.

The old computer he’d never seemed to be able to figure out.

The picture of my mother and me from the Christmas when I was five, and the one from my high school graduation.

His World’s Best Dad mug, which I’d gotten him in elementary school, was still on the desk, the inner lip dotted dark with coffee stains.

Steve went right in and sat in my dad’s chair. I didn’t know why that made me sad, but it did.

“Sit down,” he said to me, when he realized I was still lingering in the doorway.

I tried not to stumble as I walked to the chair and sat, overwhelmed by memories of my childhood.

He laced his hands in front of him. “Now. I’m so sorry about your father, Rebecca. He was a great man. I’m sure I speak for many when I say I feel like I’ve lost not only a good business associate, but a good friend as well.”

Tears burned the backs of my eyes. “Thank you.”

“Now. Let’s get down to business,” he said, going through a stack of files on the desk. “As you can tell, your father didn’t have the best record-keeping system on earth.”

I bristled at the dig. “Which was why he hired you, right?”

He shook his head. “I handled the big-picture financials, but your father had an administrative assistant to handle the day-to-day accounting. Rather inept, I think.”

He was talking about Claire, an older woman who’d retired a few months ago. She’d been very sweet. Maybe not tech-savvy, but she seemed to run his business pretty well, and my father had always said nice things about her.

“I know about Claire. And I know what she did. I used to work here over the summers when I was in high school and college. Everything seemed to be in order.”

His lips stretched, but I could see the sarcasm inside the smile. “Well, do you think this is in order now?”

I looked around at the stacks of papers all over the place. Picked one up. It was an invoice from four years ago, and underneath it, an invoice for one from last month. Underneath that, a bill for the office’s electricity. Past due.

Holy crap. I scanned the rest of the place. Stood up and looked around. There were at least twenty piles scattered all over the cramped office, littering every available surface. All appeared to be stacked with no rhyme or reason.

“No.” I picked up a sheet of paper with an uncashed check from two years ago stapled on it. “Oh, my god.”

“Yes. It’s catastrophic in my eyes.”

I picked up another uncashed check. “I don’t understand. What happened?”

“Like I said, his admin for the past few years was a nice woman, but not very capable. And your father was a nice man. I urged him to let her go. But he refused. And now we’re in this debacle, which frankly, I’m not sure how to pull us out of.”