Jo shook her head. “Only two things come from men’s wallets. Money and condoms. I’m not interested in either from you, Chad. Please go away and leave me alone.”
“I’ll sweeten the deal and throw in that double-rack rotating oven to increase your baking capacity. Shelby said you’ve had your eye on it because the oven you have now is so old, it blows out the power occasionally.” He held out the check, but she kept her arms crossed, so he laid it on top of the filing cabinet beside him. “Cash the check or sell your ring. Either way, it’s better than having to beg for scraps from your father.”
She let out a low growl as her hand dove into her apron. The chances of her having a gun in there were pretty slim, so he held his ground.
“I’m going to say this one last time.” Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the little ring box. “I’m not taking money from you. And I’m not going to be your physical therapist. Please take your ring and go.”
Her arm reared back as if she meant to launch the ring at him, but then she checked herself and tossed it his way.
He caught it and laid it beside the check on top of the file cabinet. “It’s a fair offer, Jo. I hope you change your mind.”
He picked up his cane, then turned to leave, grateful they were in her office and not standing in her kitchen near those knives. He was pretty sure he’d end up with one in his back, especially if she knew what he was about to do.
But it’d be for her own good. He didn’t like the idea of Jo being indebted to her controlling father.
Jo flipped through a glossy ladies’ magazine as she waited in the lobby of her father’s plastic surgery practice. She did her best not to fidget. Her father hated that, and she was pretty sure there were cameras set up to observe the waiting room.
What if he said no? What would she do next? All her banking resources said they’d only loan her the money if she had a cosigner because she’d been in business for less than two years.
But her restaurant was kicking butt. They were in the black, but just barely. She’d used the profits to hire more people and pay them well so they’d stay and feel invested, but because of that, the restaurant didn’t look as good on paper. It didn’t bring in quite enough to make the balloon payment due in less than a year. But if she could expand to the empty former bar space next door, they would. Shelby said she knew the guy who owned it and that they could pick it up for a good price. Shelby’s real estate experience from when she’d worked with her developer uncle had come in handy more than once.
Finally, Fiona, her father’s receptionist, said she could go back.
Making her way down the hall to her dad’s office, Jo went over all the stats he was sure to ask for. She could do this. She just needed to stay unemotional and detached—like him.
She poked her head inside his office, but he wasn’t there. Figures he’d tell her to come back and then make her wait. It was all part of his power game.
Fine. She could wait.
She crossed the room, unable to miss the new photo montage dedicated to her brother on the wall across from her father’s desk. Greg had just returned from a stint with Doctors Without Borders. There were pictures of her brother in the jungle and with locals he’d befriended. She wished her father could see that there was more than one path to follow in life. Being a doctor wasn’t for everyone.
Instead of sitting in one of the chairs in front of her father’s desk, she crossed to a little side table that held breast implants. They came in all sizes. Her real size Bs were fine with her, but she’d never touched an implant before and wondered if it’d feel fake.
She picked up a D-size one. It was a bag of goo that jiggled as she hefted the weight in her hand. Who would ever want to carry two of those around all day? They’d totally get in the way while kneading dough.
“Please be careful with that.”
Jo jumped at the sound of her father’s voice and dropped the boob on the table. When it rolled on the floor, she willed it not to break.
Mortified, she stared at it, grateful for no leakage, before her father reached down and then gently placed it back into its holder.
“Why must you always touch things? Like a child? You’re so much like your mother. What are you these days? Thirty-two, thirty-three?”
He knew exactly how old she was. He sometimes seemed to know things about her before she did. It was if he had spies everywhere. “Thirty. And I was just curious.”
Wait. Did her father mean she was like her real mother? Her parents hadn’t spoken of her biological mother in years.
Shaking his head, her father rounded his desk and sat down. Her father was a fit, tall man without an ounce of body fat. He’d have gray hair, but he dyed it black to offset his stunning blue eyes. A walking poster for his own services.