Page 52 of Crushing Clover
Warren was on the phone.
I threw the envelope stuffed with cash on his desk, but he held up a finger, keeping me from leaving.
In any other family, the father would want to talk to the son to connect, express affection, or impart wisdom. With Warren, it could be almost anything, except those three things. Knowing him, he was holding me up just to be a dick.
The envelope sat on his desk, ignored. He could be using the cash I dropped off every month to wipe his ass, for all he seemed to care about it.
“Fine, fine.” He hung up without saying goodbye. Always such a rude fucker. Clover didn’t understand the struggle I went through to be less of a prick than the man who’d impregnated my mother.
“Saint John.”
“You remembered my name again. Now I feel special.”
He sighed. “You love playing the victim, don’t you. I’ve given you everything you’ve ever wanted, and the only thing you do is complain.”
“You’ve given me everything except your time, consideration, and affection,” I corrected.
He stood. “Would a hug from your daddy make you feel better?”
No, but punching in a few of his teeth might make me feel better.
“I think it’s a little too late for hugs. I do appreciate the loan, though.”
“And yet you complain about that, too.”
“The interest rate leaves something to be desired.”
“Do you mean the girl, or my convenience fee? You do realize no other lender was interested in taking a chance on you, right?”
“True.”
“And the girl?”
“She’s alive.”
He was studying me, but I’d been hiding my real emotions from this man for almost thirty years.
“You like her.”
“You wish.”
I had a big, big problem. He wasn’t wrong.
How would I negotiate my way out of giving her back?
Whatever he wanted, I couldn’t afford.
I stared at the envelope on the desk and contemplated how many things we’d gone without to make our payments on Cygnet. We were almost done, almost free from Warren.
Finally.
But I knew this man. He would insist that either we go back into eyeballs-deep debt to buy her from him, or give her up.
That had been his whole point in giving her to me, of course. The bullshit about me needing an heir was all smoke and mirrors. He didn’t like that I enjoyed men, but the larger issue was he couldn’t stand the idea of not having a way to control me anymore.
“Disappointing.” He shrugged. “Oh well. One more month and I’ll take her off your hands.”
“What are you planning to do with her?” I asked, despite myself.
“She’ll go back up for auction, I suppose. Last time, I outbid a man from northern Russia. There’s no guessing where she’ll end up after this.” His brow winged upward. “Do you care?”
“No.” I hooked my thumbs into the beltloops of my jeans, trying to look casual instead of murderous. “I just can’t believe you bought a person. That’s low, even for you.”
“I may have bought her, but you kept her.”
As part of the conditions of keeping Cygnet. He’d cornered me into that.
He waved a dismissive hand, as though Clover and her fate were inconsequential. It pissed me the fuck off, but I couldn’t let him see that.
“How is Cygnet doing?”
“Really well,” I said suspiciously. The man never showed interest in my life without a selfish reason.
“No reviews by anyone important, though. Arabella’s little place won something prestigious, I hear.”
Irritation bloomed through me. Why did he know that, and why did he have to be such a prick about it? “Did it? Good for her.”
The amused twist of his mouth was exhausting. With Warren, it always felt as though we were playing a game of chess and I was doing the intellectual equivalent of chewing on the board.
Whatever.
“I’m going.”
“In a hurry?” he asked mildly.
“No. You’re boring.” I got up and walked out.
Worried and exhausted, I got into my truck. I would stop the Tilt-a-Whirl of my mind with an unhealthy dose of loud music and speeding.