My cell began to ring. “Speaking of being disappointed.” I showed the screen to Grace. It was my father’s lawyer.
“Harper speaking,” I answered.
“Ms. Jayne. It’s Kenneth Bray.” Why was he calling me at the weekend?
“Yes, Mr. Bray. How can I help?” I rolled my eyes at Grace.
Apparently my father had set me up a trust fund. The letters I’d received about it were stuffed into the chest that we’d just lugged up from the truck. I hadn’t answered any of them. I didn’t want my father’s money. I started accepting his money in college. I figured he owed me that much but after a year, I took a job and stopped cashing his checks. I couldn’t accept money from a stranger, even if he was genetically related to me.
“I want to arrange for you to come into the office so I can talk you through the details of the money your father has set aside for you.”
“I appreciate your persistence, but I’m not interested in my father’s money.” All I’d ever wanted was a guy who showed up for birthdays and school plays or for anything as far as I was concerned. Grace was wrong; my expectations of men were at rock bottom. My father’s absence from my childhood had ensured that. I didn’t expect anything from men except disappointment.
Mr. Bray tried to convince me to meet with him and I resisted. In the end I told him I’d read the paperwork and get back to him.
I hung up and took a deep breath.
“Are you okay?” Grace asked.
I wiped the edge of my glass with my thumb. “Yeah,” I said. It was easier when I could pretend my father didn’t exist. When I heard from him, or even his lawyer, I felt like Sisyphus watching my boulder tumble back down the hill. It put me back at square one, and all the thoughts of how I should have had a different father, a different life, a different family that I normally managed to bury came rushing to the surface.
My father had gotten my mother pregnant and then refused to do the right thing and marry her. He’d abandoned us both. He’d sent us money—so we were financially taken care of. But what I’d really wanted was a father. Eventually all the broken promises built up into a mountain I couldn’t see over. The birthday parties where I watched the door, hoping he’d show up, took their toll. There were one too many Christmases where the only thing I asked Santa for was my dad. It was his absence from my life that had been the real problem because it felt as if there was always someone else that came first, somewhere else he’d rather be. It left me with the feeling that I wasn’t worth anyone’s time.
“You want to talk about it?” Grace asked.
I smiled. “Absolutely not. I wanna get a little drunk in my new apartment with my best friend. Maybe gossip and eat some ice cream.”
“That is our speciality,” Grace replied. “Can we talk about boys?”
“We can talk about boys but I’m warning you, if you try to set me up I’m kicking your ass back to Brooklyn.”
“But you haven’t even heard who it’s with yet.”
I laughed. She was so easy to read. “I’m not interested in dating. I’m focusing on my career. That way I can’t be disappointed.” Max King’s words, results, not effort, get rewarded, rang in my ears. I would just have to do better, work harder. There wasn’t any time for dating or setups.
“You’re so cynical. Not every man is like your father.”
“I didn’t say they were. Don’t play amateur shrink on me. I just want to get established here in New York. Dating isn’t my priority. That’s all.” I took a sip of my wine and tucked my legs under me.
I would win Max King around if it killed me. I’d followed his career so carefully it’d felt as if I knew him. But I’d imagined myself as his protégée. I’d start working for him and he’d tell me he’d never met anyone so talented. I’d assumed within a few days we’d be able to finish each other’s sentences and we’d high five each other after meetings. And I admit it, I may have had a sex dream about him. Or two.
That had all been before I’d met him. I’d been an idiot.
“Sex,” I blurted. “That’s what men are good for. Maybe I’ll take a lover.”
“That’s all?” Grace asked.
I traced the rim of my glass with my finger. “What else do we need them for?”
“Friendship?”
“I have you,” I replied.
“Emotional support?”
“Again, that’s your job. You share it with ice cream, wine, and the occasional retail overspend.”