“And so it began,” I say softly. Warmth fills me with this story, and I wonder who the artist was who’d helped him, but I’ve already surmised Chris does everything with specific intent, including avoiding the use of her name.
“And so it began.”
He gives me a keen inspection and I can see his mind working, and my skin prickles in a prelude to whatever probing questions I’ve earned with all of mine.
“So, Sara,” he beings slowly. “Tell me. Just how rich is your father?”
I inhale and shove aside my plate. He’s told me more than I expected him to tell me, more than he claims he tells anyone. I can’t shut him down and I know he isn’t interested in the money, as much as me walking away from it.
I pull my feet to the chair and hug my knees, the big robe a cloak, a shelter of sorts. “He’s the CEO of Neptune Technologies.”
He arches a brow. “As in the cable network?”
“Yes.”
He leans back in his chair to study me. “And you live in a modest apartment on a teacher’s salary?”
“Yes.”
“You hate him that much.”
It’s not a question so I don’t answer. I get up and walk to the coffee pot and come back to the table. I hold the pot up to him. He offers me his cup and I fill it. He glances up at me, his eyes probing. “Thank you.”
I nod and fill my own cup before replacing the pot and sitting down. I pour creamer into my coffee and stir, avoiding Chris’s scrutiny.
“Do you talk to him?” he prods, apparently not worried about pushing me as I was him.
I sip my coffee, in no rush to deliver my reply but finally confess, “Never and I don’t talk about him, Chris.” I add his word choice for emphasis. “Ever.”
He ignores my obvious plea to change the subject. “When was the last time you actually saw or talked to him?”
“I said my goodbyes to them both at the funeral.” I sip my coffee and I wish it were liquid chocolate comfort, not ground brewed beans. Chris is still staring at me when I set it down.
He looks puzzled. “She died of a heart attack, right?”
I nod.
“So why do I get the feeling you blame your father for her death?”
My lips thin. ”I blame him for her miserable life.”
Understanding washes over him. “You didn’t take a dime. You just walked away.”
“Yes.” A lump forms in my throat. “Which brings me to last night. I don’t know what is up with you and Mark, but-”
“It’s not a cock-fight,” he teases and I can tell he’s trying to lighten the mood.
I cringe at the memory I cannot escape. “I still can’t believe I said that.”
“We aren’t enemies,” he adds, answering what I have not asked but planned to. “I just know him and I know how he works. I wasn’t — I won’t - let him manipulate you.”
“I’m an employee trying to earn my way into a permanent job, and one that pays more than an intern on the floor.”
“And your desperateness to make that happen showed. He can’t manipulate you. If he thinks you have something to offer, he’ll give you the opportunity at Riptide, minus the head games he was working on you.”
“My father is the king of users and I handle him just fine. I can handle Mark, Chris.”
“You ended up with nothing from your father, Sara. You didn’t handle him just fine. Any father worth a grain of salt takes care of his fucking daughter, no matter how hard-headed she might be about letting him. You deserve to be taken care of.”
Anger surges in me and I stand up. “You have no right-”
He’s on his feet towering over me. “What if I want to have a right?”
“You aren’t a relationship kind of guy, Chris and that’s why I’m here. I’m not a relationship kind of girl. No white picket fences, remember? We both agreed on that. You all but insisted on it. Therefore, you get to fuck me but you don’t get to fuck with my life. This is my opportunity to prove I can have my dream just like you have yours. I appreciate the commission. I do. More than you know but it changes nothing. I still need more than money or I’d be my father’s whipping dog right now, lapping up his money.” My heart is about to explode from my chest. “I need to get dressed and go home.” I start to walk away.
“Already running away? Can I scare you that easily?”
I stop dead in my tracks and my chest burns. “I’m not running,” I hiss, facing off with him.
“You look like you’re running to me. The first time I push a button you don’t like you bolt.”