Page 47 of The False Start (Off the Bench)

Chapter Thirty-Two

CAL

L ila’s been quiet this morning, whether she’s mourning her family on Christmas day or just tired, I can’t tell. She’s still lying in bed, curled up with her phone as I make us breakfast. I hear her soft footfalls from behind me as I flip the omelets in the pan on the stove.

“You’re up,” I say, without turning around. “I was going to bring you breakfast. Omelet okay? Or I can do something else.”

She doesn’t answer, and I glance over my shoulder and freeze.

She’s standing there, silent tears streaming down her face, wrapped in the fluffy blanket from my mother.

I’m so thankful I have it right now. I flick off the stove and stride to her, pulling her into my arms. She nearly collapses against me.

“What is it, love?”

“She didn’t text.”

“What? Who didn’t text?”

She sniffs, pulling back to look up at me. “My mom always texts me on Christmas morning if I haven’t been able to be home. First thing in the morning, and always by nine when they do presents. It’s 10:15. She didn’t text.”

“I’m sorry.” I can’t think of anything else helpful to say, when all I want to do is yell at her mother.

“I shouldn’t even be upset. I’m the one who left.”

“You’re her child, Lila. She signed up to love and care for you. You don’t owe her a damn thing.”

“You really think so?”

I nod, wiping her tears from her cheeks with my thumb and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“I know so.”

She steps back out of my arms, wiping her own face. “I think I just needed to cry about it for a bit. I’m going to shower and try to de-puff my face before we have to get ready to meet your dad.”

I shrug. “Do you want breakfast? I can have it ready for you when you’re out.”

“Yes, please.”

I turn back to the stove as she disappears into her bedroom and sigh as I realize I forgot to take the skillet off the stove, and what was once my omelet is now smoking and burned. I scrape it into the trash and crack three fresh eggs into a bowl to start anew.

“Ready?” I ask as we pull up to the steakhouse valet in downtown Chicago, where my father made a reservation for today.

“As ready as I can be.” She smiles at me, the trace of her earlier breakdown gone from her face.

I take a shaky breath and put the car in park.

“Are you ready?” she asks, placing her hand on my thigh.

“I think so.” I kiss her quickly, and open my door, glaring at her through the windshield when she reaches for her own door handle.

“You should know better than that,” I tease when I open the passenger door for her a moment later.

She rolls her eyes, but I’m able to admire the way her ass is accentuated by her dark green sweater dress and heeled booties as she walks away.

I lick my lips as she looks over her shoulder, her gaze heating as she meets mine.

I wink at her and smirk as I see one of the other ladies eyeing her Christmas present from earlier with envy—a black mini Kelly bag she eyed on her laptop one night.

One phone call to Mother, and the Hermés employee couldn’t wrap up the bag fast enough.

She nearly cried all over again when she opened it after breakfast, though out of the gifts, I got the better end of the deal.

What’s a few thousand dollars compared to the time and effort Lila spent on the ceramic football woven with the blues and greys of both teams in my NFL career and Yale.

The best part is yet to come though, when she’s taking me to the studio for a private lesson next week.

We step to the hostess together, my hand ghosting her lower back. “It should be three under Basset,” I tell her.

“Ah, yes, the other member of your party has already been seated. If you’ll just follow me.”

I check my watch and scowl. We’re five minutes early to the reservation, but that won’t matter if he’s already here. If he’s here and seated, we’re late.

“What’s wrong?” Lila hisses at me. I shake my head.

“Johnathan,” a deep voice booms out, and I force myself not to cringe at his overly posh British accent.

“Hello, Father.” I shake his hand as he stands from his place at a corner table overlooking the city. “This is Lila.”

“It’s lovely to meet you.” She beams up at him, offering her hand.

“Yes, so nice of you to finally introduce us.” He ignores her hand, sitting back down, and I grit my teeth. Already, we’re off to such a wonderful start with him playing the part of overgrown aristocrat instead of loving father. It makes me glad I’ve lost most of my own accent.

“Let me get your chair,” I murmur to Lila, pulling it out and waiting for her to sit before I take my own place across from my father.

“I was starting to get worried you weren’t coming,” he muses, not taking his eyes off the wine list in front of him.

“I thought the reservation was for six.” Lila says before I can jump in.

“So it was.” His smile drips with condescension, and she straightens in her seat, her eyes dropping to the menu in front of her.

“A nice Chardonnay to start with, I think,” he tells the waiter as he approaches the table. “And we’ll do the ’95 Cabernet for dinner, finishing off with a sherry.” His eyes turn to us. “Assuming that is acceptable, and you don’t need a Moscato or something of that nature?”

“That sounds fine, Father,” I say my molars clenching so hard I make a mental note to see a dentist first thing in the new year.

“I haven’t been here before,” Lila says pleasantly. “Do you recommend anything, Mr. Basset?”

“Well as they are a steakhouse, I’d likely recommend one of those.”

She forces a laugh and closes her menu.

“Son,” he says, turning to me, “I see you’re doing well in your game this year, but I do hope they’re leaving you time to spend on some of the more important aspects of your life.”

“Well, seeing as it is my job, I can’t say they much care about what else I do so long as it doesn’t reflect poorly on the team.” I take a sip of my water to calm myself.

“Did you see the papers I couriered over yesterday? I was hoping we could discuss them tonight.” He glances at Lila. “Even if we do have company.”

“I haven’t seen them, no. We spent the day yesterday with Lila’s family, celebrating Christmas Eve.”

He huffs, swirling his wine. “I see.”

“Did you think I asked you to have dinner to talk about the company?”

He shifts uncomfortably, and I pin him with a glare.

“I suppose we can enjoy a meal for the holiday.”

“Thank you.” I reach for Lila’s knee, squeezing it briefly.

The next hour actually passes surprisingly well.

Our food comes, and it passes even my father’s strict inspection, the wine leaving little to complain about as well.

Our conversation, while stilted and not what one would call pleasant , is polite at least. By the time our chocolate mousse arrives, my bladder is screaming, and as much as I wish to never leave Lila alone with my father, I have to head toward the bathroom.

“Please excuse me, I’ll be right back.” I stand, nodding at my father, and drop a kiss to Lila’s temple.

When I return only a few minutes later, Lila is gone, and my father looks a little too pleased with himself. My heart sinks.

“What did you do?” I bite out.

“I only had a frank conversation with her about your future together.” He shrugs. “She’s the one who chose to leave.”

I drag my hand down my face and fight the urge to hit him with it.

“What did you say to her exactly ?”

“I find I can’t quite remember the specifics. Son, did you know her father used to work as an electrician?” He scoffs. “These aren’t our kind of people. Now, if you want a girlfriend to play with, I can understand that. I know Victoria has shown interest in the past, and her parents?—”

“Stop,” I interrupt. “Have you spoken to Tori recently?” The conversation from the other night flooding back.

“Victoria, Johnathan. Honestly nicknames are so uncouth. And I believe we had lunch a few weeks ago when she was in New York for a Dior show.”

I grind my teeth together.

“You set her up to say those things to Lila at the gala, didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re speaking of. We simply discussed her future. It’s awfully bright, you know. You two would make a wonderful family together.” He smiles at me, and it’s so genuine I feel sick. “I just want what’s best for you, Johnathan.”

My vision starts to waver, tinging with red. “You can’t possibly mean that.” I laugh because what the actual fuck .

He looks stricken. “Of course, that’s all I’ve ever wanted. You’re my son.”

“I wish I wasn’t.” I scoff.

“Now wait a minute, you will not speak to me that way.”

“I mean it, Father. If this is what being your son means, I don’t want it. I love that woman, and I enjoy playing football. And I’m damn good at it, because in case you haven’t noticed, the NFL doesn’t have that many players.”

“That’s nice. Of course you’re good at it. You’re a Basset. We’re good at everything.”

“Evidently not.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mother—”

“My relationship with your mother is none of your business. We are both perfectly content with the lives we lead. And your mother agrees with me. It’s time you stop playing around with your game and learn how to run Basset Holdings. We have a legacy to uphold.”

“I don’t want your fucking company!” I roar, and several tables turn to stare.

“I don’t want to run a company, I want to enjoy my life, something you never stopped to do.

I want to fall in love. I want to travel, where I see more than just the inside of board rooms in the financial district.

I want to have a life .” I’m heaving, but I can taste the freedom on the other side of this conversation.

“I love Lila. I want her in my life, permanently. That is assuming she’ll even still want me after you butted your nose in. ”

I take one deep breath and continue. “She’s funny and smart and beautiful and probably would have loved to talk about work with you since she works in consulting too, but you wouldn’t even give her a chance, because you decided you from the beginning that she wasn’t good enough.

Which is a complete lie. If anything, we’re not good enough for her.

” I shake my head. “I’m done.” I back away slowly and pull out my phone, opening the email I drafted after the Christmas Gala and hitting send.

“If you want to hold my trust, fine. All it will do is reduce the charitable contributions in the Basset name.

His phone vibrates on the table and his eyes flick to it, widening in surprise.

“Don’t call.” I turn on my heel and stride from the restaurant.

I nearly jump when I see Lila leaning against the passenger side of my Mercedes, quickening my strides until I wrap my arms around her tightly.

“You didn’t run.”

“I didn’t run,” she breathes into my neck.