Midnight’s Queen (Stroke of Midnight #3)

Chapter 29

Portia reached her apartment door with a sigh of relief. She’d returned to her office after dropping Dizzie off, but had been too distracted to do much work. She either kept replaying her conversations with Dizzie or obsessively checking her email for news about the Vyne research from Ash or Mendez. Neither activity had left her any brain power for the other business of running the company. Hopefully tomorrow would be more productive.

All afternoon she’d mulled the idea of inviting Killian and Dizzie to dinner. She still didn’t love the idea—she’d never pictured herself socializing with Dizzie. The only place she’d ever pictured Dizzie was a jail cell or a grave.

Had she gotten weak? That was what her father would say. For a lot of years, she’d believed him.

What her father thought didn’t matter anymore.

On that happy thought, she pressed her palm to the door sensor and it unlocked with a quick snick. Closing it securely behind her, she set down her bag and kicked her heels off in the entryway.

As she padded toward the living room, she released her bun. Her hair fell loosely around her shoulders and she breathed a sigh of relief as the pressure on her temples eased. She’d overdone it this morning, but she’d wanted to look as no-nonsense as possible for this meeting. The Solveigs had needed to understand that she was not someone to fuck with. All in all, Portia thought that message had been delivered.

“What did those fucking Swedes want?”

A scream froze in her throat and her heart beat double time. Someone was in her apartment. She stepped backward, intending to flee and call security. Her thumb was hovering over her ring’s panic button when the light flicked on in the living room, illuminating her unexpected visitor.

“Dad?” This couldn’t be happening. “I thought you were dead. Everyone thought you were dead.”

Yet, there he sat. On her couch. In her living room.

“You had a meeting with the Solveigs tonight. Tell me why,” he demanded.

What? That was all he had to say? No way. She had plenty of her own questions. Cautiously stepping into the living room, she turned on every light she could reach and studied him.

Graying blond hair a little longer than he usually wore it. A suit that wasn’t nearly as pressed as his usual standard. Cheekbones that were just slightly more pronounced than when she last saw him. “Where the hell have you been?”

He set the glass he’d been holding onto the coffee table, next to the scotch he’d apparently helped himself to, and stood. “You don’t speak to me that way, daughter. Now sit down and answer my question.”

Portia held her ground and fought the conditioning of her youth. She’d always done everything her father told her to do. The need to win his approval had been overwhelming, but nothing had ever been good enough. These last several months, running the company on her own, had been so freeing.

So, she steeled her spine and overrode the ingrained need to obey. “No.”

Her heart nearly pounded out of her chest as she refused his order. It took everything she had to fake nonchalance and lean against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. “No, I don’t think so. It’s your turn to answer my questions.” Just as with the Solveigs, she layered every ounce of don’t-fuck-with-me she had into her voice.

His brow furrowed and his cheeks flushed. Once again, she had to fight the deep-rooted desire to apologize and do what he said.

Until that moment, she’d never realized how fucked up her childhood was. Tommy and Killian had tried time and again to point it out, but she’d never truly understood what they were saying until this moment. “What are you doing here?” And how had he gotten in?

Turning on the charm, he asked, “A father can’t visit his daughter?”

It was such an absurd question, she couldn’t contain the laugh that burbled up. She laughed long enough and hard enough that his scowl deepened, the skin between his brows pinching together. She enjoyed the novelty of knocking him off balance. It was only fair, considering he’d spent years doing the same to her.

“Not when he’s been missing for months. You never wrote, never called,” she said mockingly.

“I had things to take care of.” He grabbed his glass for another swallow.

Portia raised a brow. “Really? What could possibly be more important than comforting your daughter in her grief? Or steering your company through a difficult time?”

He started to answer and she waved him off. “You know what? I don’t care. You let everyone think you were dead and I stepped in. I stepped up. I’m the CEO of the Tremaine Corporation now. So, you can go back to wherever it was you were and enjoy your retirement.”

He growled at that and took a step toward her.

Her heart rate kicked up again. Would he actually harm her? She honestly wasn’t sure.

Despite her concerns, she didn’t let her worry show. Just like he’d taught her. “They wanted to meet their granddaughter. You know, the one you kept locked in the basement to use as spare parts?”

He glared at her and she waited for his rebuttal. The way he would tell her that she wasn’t good enough. Surprisingly, it didn’t come. She didn’t believe he had changed, so what was he waiting for?

They stood in silence, tension crackling between them. When it became clear he was waiting for her to break, she pasted on her Ice Queen smile. “If that’s all, you should leave. I’ve had a long day.”

“Where do you expect me to go?” She couldn’t read his expression or his tone.

Portia stared at him. “I don’t really care. Back to your home or wherever you been hiding.” As far as she knew, his place had been sitting empty. She hadn’t been willing—or ready—to make a permanent decision about it until she knew for sure what had happened to him. She’d hired a caretaker to check on it weekly. Surely her father hadn’t been holed up there this entire time. She couldn’t imagine him not succumbing to the bright lights of the city.

“Next time you want to talk to me, make an appointment. Anything we need to discuss can happen in my office.”

Rage flared in his gaze. “Oh, we’ll be speaking further, missy.”

That cold, angry tone used to make her quiver in fear. She refused to show distress this time.

His nostrils flared, the only outward sign that her defiance had angered him. Portia stepped aside as he strode past her. The door closed behind him with an angry click.

She hurried behind him and engaged the deadbolt. Then she sagged against the wall as the adrenaline rush that had kept her upright finally dissipated.

Holy shit. Her father was alive.

That was a problem she really didn’t need right now.

Summoning enough strength to push off the wall, she returned to the living room. The decanter was on the coffee table where her father had left it, next to his empty glass. Clean glasses were across the room in the kitchen.

“Screw it,” she muttered and picked the glass bottle up by its neck. She brought it to her lips and took a long swallow. It burned, but she didn’t care. A drop slid down her chin and she wiped it away with the back of her hand.

Setting the bottle back on the table, she dropped onto the couch. Her father’s return was a complication she didn’t need. Not right now. He had the potential to screw up everything she’d done since his disappearance. All her improvements and fixes, erased.

She leaned back and closed her eyes. Maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with him again any time soon.

Haha. Not likely.

She’d barely rested her head on the cushion before she realized that he was most likely back to reclaim the company. She wouldn’t put it past him to stroll in tomorrow like he owned the place.

Screw that. The Tremaine Corporation was hers now. He’d thrown it away the moment he disappeared. Now she would do everything in her power to keep it, no matter who was trying to take it from her.

But as much as it galled her, she couldn’t do it alone.

It was time to put on her big girl panties and start rebuilding some bridges.