In not so many words.
He entered the kitchen through the back door expecting to find his father there, sipping coffee, chatting with the housekeeper while she prepared sandwiches for the staff and guest lunches. But no one was in the oversized room, only polished butcher-block counters and a long, empty table.
He followed his instinct to the other side of the rambling house, glanced into the living and dining rooms, and checked the expansive family room where they gathered after Wednesday and Sunday dinners to hold impromptu company meetings.
But Dad wasn’t in any of those places. Finally, he headed down the hall to his father’s private office, finding the door closed, which was unusual.
So unusual, he didn’t know if he should knock or assume it was empty and continue his search. But he heard a voice on the other side of the door, muffled, with no response, telling him that Dad was on the phone.
He waited for a moment, then heard his father laugh.
“Well, that’s good to hear, Son. Keep me posted if your squadron goes on the move.”
Squadron? Dad was on the phone with Aidan? Garrett gave the door one quick tap to be polite, then pushed it open just in time to see his father hanging up the old-school landline he kept on his desk and insisted on using.
“Were you talking to Aidan?”
“Hello, Garrett,” Dad said. “Closed doors mean nothing, I suppose.”
Rusty got up from a nap in his dog bed and ambled over to Garrett for a sniff.
“About as much as the fact that I told you no journalists.”
He eyed Garrett, then gestured for him to sit. “I knew she’d tell you.”
He stayed standing. “Not soon enough.”
“I wanted her to wait until you got to know her. She is one very attractive girl, isn’t she?”
“First, she’s a woman. Second, she’s a journalist.”
“Do you have a problem with women and journalists?”
“I have a problem with being manipulated and interviewed.” He dropped into a chair, staring daggers at his father, but running his fingers through Rusty’s hair as the dog worked his nose over Garrett’s legs. “What the hell, Dad?”
“Garrett, she’s not some reporter off the street. She spent a lot of time here, she’s Molly’s childhood friend, and she deserves special care. I know you’ll give it to her.” He picked up a coffee cup up. “But she’s a pretty one. Always had such cute freckles. Ever notice?”
Yes, he noticed plenty. Until she started to sound an awful lot like a reporter. “Look, you know that after all those years in the spotlight, I’m not a fan of the media.”
“And you know that if this business is going to survive and thrive, we have to have some public relations.”
“Don’t act like that’s what you want, because she already told me you want her to write something favorable to counteract what’s been written before.”
“She did tell you everything.” He gave a little grunt. “But I do want coverage for Waterford. It’s good for our business.”
“We’re on social media, which is all we need in this day and age,” Garrett shot back. “Darcy’s brought in dozens of customers with that Instagram account she runs, and Gramma is a freaking blogging sensation.” Not that he’d ever understand how that happened, but once Molly’s daughter taught Gramma Finnie how to use a computer, it was all over. “We don’t need strangers digging up info.” He didn’t, anyway.
Dad slammed his elbows on his desk hard enough to startle Rusty, who’d dropped down to rest at Garrett’s feet.#p#分页标题#e#
“Son, you can’t spend the rest of your life trying to hide from your past. You built a company, you sold it for many, many millions of dollars, you made this family quite wealthy, and we’ve used those blessings to make people happy and dogs safe. That’s a great story, and it makes me inordinately proud.”
But if anyone dug too deep, it wouldn’t be so great and Dad wouldn’t be so proud. He looked down at his scuffed boots, but saw only the bright green eyes of a curious, warm, completely unthreatening woman who was probably very good at her job. But her job terrified him.
“It’s more than a reporter in our midst that’s bothering you,” his father said, always the most insightful human around for miles.
He looked up. “So, was that Aidan?” he asked, purposely ignoring the question. “I didn’t think he was able to get to a computer to email us, let alone call.”
“Well, he did.” Dad’s blue eyes, so much like the ones that stared back from the mirror every morning, shifted from sharply insightful to something a little softer, as they did when one of his kids was less than one hundred percent happy.