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Chapter Fift y

Xavier

" I understand you're sleeping with the temporary nanny."

My father's eyes bore into me in that way that shrinks me down to nothing, like I’m a bad investment he’s having regrets about. He summoned me to his office in the East Wing, which I'm positive was designed with the primary purpose of intimidation. It's impossible to sit across from him in this space and not feel like a bug under a microscope. I hate that we're having the conversation on his turf.

I hate that we're having this conversation at all.

"I'm not sleeping with her," I clarify. "I'm dating her."

He scoffs. “ Hmpf. ”

Jesus Christ. I hate this man.

"Now, I don't know what this girl's interest in you might be, but—"

I cut him off. "Maggie isn't a gold-digger, if that's what you're insinuating."

"All my employees sign an ironclad legal document stating, among other things, that they understand they are not entitled to any of my money other than their agreed-upon paycheck— under any circumstances. I don't care if one of my staff members is plotting to sire half a dozen brats with you, she wouldn't be entitled to a penny. So, contrary to what you may think of me, that is not my concern here."

I bite my tongue, seething beneath my skin. Furious that he is talking about Maggie in any way at all. But especially like this.

If he does anything to screw her over, I will lose it.

"What I do care about," he continues, "is not having my son ruin a respectable yet impressionable young woman's reputation in the pursuit of his immature, self-indulgent, base entertainment." He leans back. "My most trusted, tenured staff have spoken to Maggie's character and credibility. Every single one of them assuring me that, despite the girl only having worked here for a matter of months, she has proven herself to be exceptionally driven. They tell me she is skilled, and highly intelligent. And despite being the youngest nanny ever under our employ, she has made an immeasurable impact with your brother."

My father's words hit different when he's praising Maggie. Each compliment feels like a fresh wound. Because he's right—she is all those things. And more.

"Would you agree with these assessments?"

I give him a curt nod, my jaw clenched tight. The less I say about Maggie to him, the better. I don't trust him not to twist my words into a weapon. My stomach is in knots at the thought that her involvement with me might end up costing her her job, after I assured her it wouldn't.

His leather chair creaks as he leans forward. "Then surely you can understand my concern about your… involvement with her."

The implied meaning hangs heavy in the air between us.

That I'm not good enough for her.

That I might taint her potential with my mess of a life. Knowing what I do about my father's low opinion of me, it's an insinuation that shouldn't take me by surprise. Yet it does.

I inhale a sharp breath through my nostrils as my hands grip the armrests until my knuckles turn white. I want to tell him that my relationship with Maggie is none of his fucking business. But by getting involved with her while she was under his employ, I'm the one who allowed it to be.

"I respect Maggie," is what I go with. "And I wouldn't do anything to bring her down or hold her back. Or hurt her or mess anything up for her."

"Are you insinuating you have set out to do any of those things with other individuals? Or that you intentionally make a mess of ostensibly every other aspect of your life?"

My jaw tics. "No."

He nods once. Almost pompously. "And yet, would you agree you nonetheless have a track record of doing all these things—repeatedly? "

I meet his cool gaze; grind my teeth but say nothing.

He leans in, palms pushing into the sleek wood of his desk. "Have you, or have you not, proven to be a disappointment in most areas of your life, on more than one occasion?"

I nod. Just the once—but still, it's the admission he's looking for. Doubly humiliating because it's the truth.

"Right. Well, I suggest you think long and hard about this conversation—during the longest stretch of time in the day when your brain remains un-addled by copious amounts of liquor—and decide how you want to proceed." He flicks his hand towards the door—presumably his way of letting me know I'm dismissed—then lifts a file folder from a tray along the corner of his desk and proceeds to scan its contents, as if I'm not even in the room anymore.

I get to my feet. Run my tongue along my teeth, nodding slowly; barely keeping it together. “You're unbelievable," I bite.

The asshole leans back in his pompous-ass chair, still holding the open folder in his wrinkled hands. Then arches a bushy grey eyebrow at me. "And you're a vapid narcissist. Get out of my office."