Chapter 12
TWELVE
Meeting Sylvia James was … a lot. One look at Bree’s face when she caught sight of her mother was enough to tell me I hadn’t heard the whole story. Bree had likely glossed over the really bad parts of her past. I didn’t blame her. I’d done the same thing.
Whatever the truth was, Bree wasn’t ready to tell it. She was in for a rough time. I didn’t know how I knew that, but I did. I felt sorry for her. A month prior, I would have said it was karma. I felt differently now. Something inside me had shifted.
I was still thinking about that when I walked up my driveway and found my own visitor. My father’s Mercedes was in the driveway. He wasn’t waiting for me on the front porch, though. I’d left my house unlocked and knew exactly where he would be.
On a sigh—apparently, this was the day for unannounced parental visits—I girded myself for what I knew was coming. My father was at the counter, looking at his phone screen, when I walked into the house. I didn’t take the time to catalog his outfit. Even on his downtime, he wore a suit.
“Dad,” I said flatly. He didn’t expect me to have golden retriever energy. In fact, it would be frowned upon.
“Brody.” Dad bobbed his head but didn’t smile. “I was wondering how long you would keep me waiting.” He lowered his phone and fixed me with an expectant look.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” I said.
“I told you I was going to stop in last time we talked.”
“You didn’t give a date and time.” I kowtowed to my father more often than was wise, but it was the path of least resistance.
That didn’t mean I rolled over and showed him my belly twenty-four seven.
I’d learned the hard way that if I never pushed back, he wouldn’t respect me. It was a delicate balancing act.
“That can’t be right.” Dad shook his head. “I’m certain I said I would be stopping by today.”
He hadn’t. This was his way, though. He expected everybody to be available when he wanted it, but if somebody were to do the same thing to him—drop in unannounced—he would pitch a fit.
“Anyway,” I said to redirect the conversation. “What can I do for you?” He wouldn’t be offended at the way I asked the question. He liked to get to the heart of the matter.
“My divorce from Elaine is final,” he replied. “The judge saw my side of things and held up the prenup.”
Elaine was his third wife. He’d waited a decent amount of time after the death of my mother to marry his second wife, Cherise.
Their marriage had lasted a grand total of two years before the divorce.
He’d had to give her more than he’d anticipated when he ended that union, which meant he’d been brutal when marrying Elaine, who was only one year older than me.
Her prenup had gone through three lawyers.
I hadn’t liked Elaine. She’d clearly been in it for the money.
Nobody would marry my father if there wasn’t a financial incentive.
He expected certain things of his wives, however.
Elaine was a beautiful woman. He had a clause in her prenup that if she gained more than ten pounds she would forego the limited amount he planned to distribute upon divorce.
She was also on a vesting schedule. For every year they were married, she made twenty grand.
They were only married for two years, however, which meant my father had likely only had to pay out for the two years and nothing more.
“How did Elaine take it?” I asked.
Dad made a face. “Who cares? She turned out to be a snake.”
“Did you prove she had an affair with the groundskeeper?” If my father could prove infidelity in the divorce, he wouldn’t have to pay a cent. That was another stipulation he’d made for his third marriage.
“No.” He wrinkled his nose. “The judge said my best guess wasn’t proof. I explained to him that I knew it, but he said that wasn’t enough.”
I didn’t for a second believe Elaine had slept with the groundskeeper. She wasn’t an idiot. I didn’t like her, but she was shrewd. I had no doubt her plan had been to outlive my father. At the very least, she wanted to last five years. Dad had pulled the rug out from under her.
“Well, at least it’s done,” I said, faux brightness rolling off of me. “That’s the important thing, right?”
He shrugged. “If you say so.” He blew out a breath. “There’s a charity event I need you to go to in two weeks.”
My father was terrible at transitions but didn’t seem to realize it. I was instantly on alert.
“What sort of charity event?”
“Do you remember Henry Collins?”
I racked my memory. “Lawyer, right?”
Dad nodded and offered up the first real smile he’d graced me with since his arrival. “His law firm is raising money for monkeys.”
I blinked, sure I’d misheard him. “What?” I said after a beat. “Monkeys?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it’s weird. There’s some monkey going extinct in the rainforest. Henry’s law firm is going to save them or something. I don’t think I fully understand.”
“Does he know there are poor people in this country?”
Dad blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m sure there are people he could save stateside. Not that I begrudge the monkeys or anything,” I added hastily. “But there are plenty of other charities here that could use the money.”
Dad blinked again.
I had to bite back a sigh. “Or we could save the monkeys.” I flashed a flat smile. “When is this charity event?”
The date he rattled off stuck in my mind, and I pulled out my phone.
“You’re going,” Dad said when I was still searching my calendar. “I told them that I needed two tickets, and I don’t have anyone else to take at present.”
I was calm when I looked up. “I have an event that night.”
“Cancel it.”
“I can’t. I am contractually obligated to be there, by my publisher. We have reader events peppered throughout the summer. That night is already taken.”
It was the “contractually obligated” part that had him over a barrel, and we both knew it. My father was a stickler for following through when you were supposed to. It was one of his only good qualities.
“I don’t suppose they could move the event,” he hedged.
“It’s a collaboration between three publishing houses and involves more than twenty authors at each event,” I replied smoothly.
“So, no.”
“No,” I agreed.
He sighed. “I guess I’m going to have to start dating.”
“You could go stag.” The words were out of my mouth before I thought better of them. The incredulous look he shot me would have been funny had it been someone else. Nothing with my father was every funny. “Or you could totally start dating,” I said.
“I’ll find somebody.” He sighed and hopped off the stool. “Are you ready?”
Since I’d been preparing myself for the big goodbye, his question caught me off guard. “Am I ready for what?”
“Dinner. I made reservations at Palmer’s Steakhouse.”
I flicked my eyes to the clock on the counter. “It’s three o’clock.”
“Yes, and you’re clearly not ready. The reservation is for four.” My father liked to eat early. Six o’clock was for cocktails and nothing more, in his book.
“So, I should get in the shower.”
His expression was bland. “I believe that’s what I said.”
“Give me thirty minutes.”
He flopped back down on the stool. “I’ll be answering emails.”
“Awesome.”
PALMER’S STEAKHOUSE WAS MY FATHER’S favorite restaurant at the Landings. He would eat at other places, but invariably, when he visited—which was rare—he wanted a steak.
He’d been a big fan of my choice of residences when I made my decision. He’d been considering moving to the Landings himself but only because he liked how ostentatious it was. That had been a drawback for me. My father, on the other hand, wanted people to know he had money.
I hadn’t gotten rich off my books. I did okay, but over the past two years, there had been a severe dry spell when it came to income.
Fortunately, my mother had set up a trust for me before her death.
She hadn’t been messing around when it came to money.
She saw the writing on the wall where my father was concerned.
He planned to leave me a huge inheritance.
I never doubted that. He would, however, make me jump through hoops and constantly threaten to revoke it if I didn’t do what he wanted.
My mother had gotten ahead of that. I was set for life thanks to her.
I wanted to make a living from my writing, but if I couldn’t, I would survive.
My father had reserved one of the best tables in the establishment, which meant we were in the dead center. I would have preferred a table at the edge of all the action, but my father was steering this ship. We had just settled, menus in front of us, when I heard a voice that was vaguely familiar.
“Isn’t that your boyfriend?”
It took me a moment to place the voice, and when I did, my spine stiffened. Slowly, I turned to find Bree tugging on her mother’s arm. Sylvia waved like a maniac, treating me as if we were old friends. Bree looked mortified.
“Yoo-hoo!” she called, beaming at me. “Brady. Hello.”
“Brody,” Bree snapped. She looked like she wanted to find a hole to crawl into and die. “His name is Brody.”
“That’s what I said.” Sylvia marched right up to the side of my table, glanced from my father to me, then took the empty chair between us on the right.
“Isn’t this just kismet?” she asked in what could only be described as a charming tone.
“I was telling Bree I didn’t get nearly enough time with you.
She said you were too busy to come back, but here you are. ”
“Here I am,” I agreed dully, uncertain what else I should say. My eyes snapped to my father, worry coursing through me—Rufus Bates did not handle it well when his plans were thrown into turmoil—and found a surprise waiting for me. He was smiling.
What the hell?
“I’m sorry,” Bree said, her gaze locking with mine. “I told her not to bother you but…” She helplessly held out her hands and shrugged.