Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tate gripped the steering wheel so hard his wrists ached. He focused on the road, and struggled to clear all the thoughts from his head. He shouldn’t have gone to his parent’s barbeque—the entire thing was a disaster. That girl his mother tried to hook him up with. Bryce Jr.
Alyssia. Every time her name danced through his thoughts, his pulse kicked back up, and his frustration poured in.
He’d wanted to brain Bryce for cornering her.
That was bad enough. But when Tate had wrapped his arm around her waist, to lead her away.
The light sag against him. The hint of her weight pressing into his body.
It had taken what little control he had left not to drag her into a bathroom, lift her onto a sink, and push her skirt up to see if she was wearing anything underneath.
Except that wasn’t right. He didn’t want to do that there. In that horrid place filled with bad memories. He’d wanted to take her back to his place, because what they did together wasn’t anyone’s business but his and hers.
And when she’d turned that hurt gaze on him, next to her car.
He’d almost caved. Been seconds from tossing restraint aside.
The only thing that kept him from acting on the impulse was knowing he’d hold her back.
The longer they pretended to be anything more than casual acquaintances, the less likely that she’d find the guy she actually deserved.
“FUCK!” He pounded the steering wheel until it creaked. He forced himself to breathe. Inhale and exhale one, two, three times.
His phone rang, and he ignored it. He couldn’t get home soon enough. Even if, for reasons he couldn’t explain, he was dreading going back to his own house for the first time ever. Home was sanctuary. He was in control there. But now, it was a looming, empty box.
Damn it.
* * *
Tate was pretty sure he’d never been more relieved to see a weekend come to a close.
Tuesday morning was his new savior. Work was safe.
He’d dive into his never ending task list and lose himself in everything he needed to do.
Check on all the other crowd-funding sites, make sure they were all online, touch base with his sales team.
Today would be better than yesterday. It didn’t have much of a choice.
His phone rang, and he clicked the speaker button without looking. “Yeah.”
“Mr. Foster is here to see you.” Alan’s voice had a more formal tone than Tate was used to. Then again, it would make sense, if the company CEO was standing next to his desk.
Fortunately, Tate wasn’t quite so worried about what the man thought of him. His dad didn’t expect the same formality at work as his mother did. “Send him in.” He looked up at the snick of his office door opening, and nodded at the chair across from his desk. “Dad.”
His father closed the door, and Tate’s suspicion spiked. Ben Foster took a seat, rested one ankle on the other knee, and intertwined his fingers. Tate could almost hear the seconds ticking away as he waited. The silence dragged on.
Tate suppressed a sigh. “What can I do for you?”
Ben clenched his jaw, and his gaze narrowed. “The waitresses? That’s fine. I don’t know if you’re just trying to piss off your mother, or you genuinely like those girls, but I don’t care as long as you’re all having fun.”
That was new. Tate waited for him to continue, despite the dread building inside. “And?”
“But you can’t mix business with pleasure. Ever.”
Tate choked back a retort about hypocrisy. “Great advice. Thanks.” He almost managed to keep the sarcasm from his voice.
Ben drummed his fingers on his leg. “Get it out of your system now. Whatever issues you’ve got with my advice. Work through this, and reconsider what a stupid idea it was for you to sleep with a client.”
Tate raised an eyebrow. There was no way his dad knew about that. He was shooting in the dark. He opened his mouth to ask what the man was talking about.
“Everyone.” Ben cut him off before he made a sound.
“Your mother, the club staff, the maids at the house—know the Tippins girl has got it bad for you. That’s fine.
Kids outgrow crushes, she will too someday.
But that display of yours yesterday? My money says you’re taking advantage of the situation.
Don’t. I don’t care if you are already, or are just thinking about it.
Stop now, and put the idea out of your head.
At least while she’s one of our clients.
After her contract is up, I don’t care what you do to her. ”
Tate choked on an angry retort. Taking advantage of…? Realization spread through him. Was he? He knew how Lys felt. Was he really using her? The idea sat heavy in his gut, and gnawed at his thoughts. “Nothing’s happening. I know better than that. Not that it’s anyone’s business.”
“It is, though.” Ben stood. “It’s my business, because it’s my company.”
“Really?” Tate’s irritation slipped out before he considered where he was going with it.
But once the word was out there, he knew exactly what he wanted to say.
“You’re going to come in here—you of all people—and tell me not to mix my business and personal lives?
Insult Alyssia Tippins for some imagined slight, when you’re guilty of the ultimate blend of company and home? ”
“Excuse me?”
He didn’t have these arguments with his father, because normally, the older man didn’t push those buttons.
But he certainly couldn’t talk about it with his mother.
She’d gloss over it, tell him she was right and he was wrong, and brush him off.
“You’re going to tell me business and pleasure don’t mix when that’s the entire foundation of your marriage?
A contract that makes sure you both get what you want in the boardroom, and doesn’t care what you do in the bedroom, as long as the world sees you as a happy couple? ”
Ben knitted his brows together, and let out a long breath of air. “Do as I say, not as I do. I’d hoped you would turn out better than we did.”
“I didn’t mean to.” The answer snapped something inside Tate. A frustration crumbling over a week-long, emotionally exhausting journey. One of Tate’s driving goals had always been to keep his personal life separate. Why had he let this happen?
A frown settled onto Ben’s face. “Then you already know what I’m about to say. This entire affair. The issues with the Thompson’s dog, the struggling animal shelter. It’s gotten too personal for you. I know you and Marge are both stubborn, and that neither of you wants to back down from this.”
He met Tate’s gaze, eyes soft and sad. “But you’re smarter than that. You know what decisions you need to make for the business. If I didn’t trust you with that, you wouldn’t be in the position you’re in, and you wouldn’t have gotten the sign off on this project.”
Tate didn’t know what was worse—the accusations based on a truth he didn’t want to recognize, or the underlying hint of ‘don’t disappoint me’ in his father’s voice. He didn’t bother with a smile, he just turned back to his computer. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
“Make sure that’s true.” Ben walked out and pulled the door shut behind him.
Tate tried to throw himself back into work. To immerse himself in the onslaught. But his father’s words echoed in his head, jumbled and cluttered and trying to grasp at thoughts just out of his reach. About Lys, about the choices he was making.
The one thing he refused to acknowledge though, was the unspoken implication he needed to cut the shelter from the crowd-funding pilot group. That was the last thing he would do.