Chapter Twenty-Six
Lauren
I arrive at work with a coffee in my hand and unwavering anxiety in my stomach.
Last week’s attack has taught me to look over my shoulder at every given moment, to check the shadows and to make sure nobody is lurking between vehicles.
Knowing that my father is upstairs is only making matters worse.
I take the elevator up, flash Melissa my best smile, and lock myself into my office, setting the coffee down. I never used to be a black Americano woman, but Nikolai has swayed me.
He told me this morning that even though he has his eye on me, I still need to be extra cautious, wary of where I go.
For once, I’m not taking his warning lightly.
I parked my car in a different parking lot today that is on a busier street, and decided to wear ballet flats instead of six-inch heels—much to my chagrin—because they’re silent when I walk in them.
The door lock clicks and someone pushes down the handle.
Something prickles at my skin.
I look up from my desk and the first thing I see is my father’s cold eyes planted on me.
Shit.
My instinctive reaction is to seize up, but I force myself to relax.
To remain composed and keep my shoulders down.
The last thing I want to do is make him even more suspicious of me than he already is.
I didn’t particularly want to come to the office today and force myself to engage in conversation with him, but Nikolai suggested that it was best to go about my life as usual, to eradicate any suspicions.
“Father,” I say, feeling the sudden need to loosen my top around my lower stomach.
He doesn’t return my greeting, his ice-cold eyes watching me like he has me figured out. “I need you in my office. Now.”
Shit.
Not good.
Now what?
I hesitate, then stiffly get up from behind my desk. “Okay.”
I swallow hard as he holds open the door to my office and I exit. I follow rigidly behind him as he leads me down the corridor, too focused on steadying my breathing to think about what this meeting might be about.
He unlocks his office door, opens it for me, and clicks it shut behind us.
It’s just the two of us in here.
I don’t know why that makes my skin crawl.
Jesus, Lauren, he’s your father!
You shouldn’t be scared of him like that!
But the reality is, I am. Ever since I saw those files, ever since I was almost choked to death in a dark alley, I am scared. And somehow, my dear old father is at the center of it.
I rub my hands over my arms, trying to warm them. The air con buzzes, blowing dry, cold air into the room. A cold shiver runs down my back.
“What’s going on?” I ask, feigning confusion.
It’s hard. I can’t even look at him the same anymore.
It’s like he’s about to break off a piece of my soul and chew it right in front of me, forcing me to watch.
If my suspicions are right, and he is somehow involved in Mom’s death, I don’t think I’ll be able to look at him as my father anymore.
Not that things were ever great between us, but still.
All those small moments I remember from my childhood—me, Mom, and him enjoying pizza on the weekends, driving places as a family of three—everything leads to him standing before me, ready to intimidate his own daughter.
Or worse.
I look into his cold stare now, and something shifts in me. He’s different from how I remember him when I was a kid. When did he become this way? What happened to him along the way?
A new kind of sadness dawns on me, one that buckles my knees.
The sadness then transitions into something else, somewhere between fear and resentment. If he has something to do with Mom’s murder, he could have something to do with mine.
Come on, Lauren.
He won’t do anything at the office.
“Father?” I don’t mean for my voice to sound so small.
“I want to know why you broke into my laptop and accessed top-secret files.”
Shit.
No, double-shit!
I seize up again, this time even more than before. My legs go stiff. I try to loosen the muscles, but it doesn't work. There’s no flexibility in them anymore.
He knows!
How the hell did he find out so fast?
And if he knows this, what if he knows about my pregnancy too? I bite my lip and pray that the latter is not true.
“I…” I start, unable to finish the sentence. No words come out.
“Don’t tell me this is about your mother again?”
Get it together, Lauren.
Time to change my strategy. If he sees me starting to falter, it’s game over. I make a point of sliding my hand up my arm slowly to convince him that this is just another nonchalant conversation.
“Does it really matter?” I tilt my head, frowning. “You never really cared about how she died. Never pressed the police to get to the bottom of her murder. You just went on with life, like it was just another day.”
Father’s bottom lip twitches. A shadow crosses his face. Clearly, I have gotten to him. As satisfying as that might be to see, I know my attitude could get me into even more shit.
“Reckless.” He shakes his head. “Always sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. You think you’re helping yourself, thinking that somehow you can commemorate your mother. You’re wrong. All you’re doing is setting yourself up to get hurt.”
I gulp. My heart beats out of my chest, my pulse drumming so loudly I’m convinced he can hear it. I just hope I’m wrong.
Setting myself up to get hurt?
What the hell does that even mean?
“I’m not her, and just because she’s gone, it doesn’t give you the right to control me,” is my comeback line. Perhaps if I give him my usual attitude, he won’t notice how shaken I am by this interaction.
Father’s eyes sharpen, looking at me like I shouldn’t be testing his patience. “Return the files and—”
“I don’t have them,” I interrupt. Lie of the century. The USB containing all of the information is at the bottom of my bag, back in my office. In hindsight, I should have left the drive at Nikolai’s place in case my father invites himself into my office and searches the place. I didn’t.
“I didn’t have time to get them,” I add. “You’re right about the first part—I did break into your computer, but Danielle stepped into your office before the download was finished.” I stare at him to show him that I’m telling the truth, even though I’m not. I just hope I look convincing enough.
I challenge him with my eyes, waiting for what comes next. My heart still pounds out of my chest, but I ignore it, focusing on what’s more important—convincing my father that I don’t know anything.
When in actuality, I know too much.
God, I hate lying. But I have no other choice right now.
His eyes narrow, suggesting that he doesn’t believe me. He opens his mouth, about to say something else, when there’s a knock at the door. It cracks open a second later.
I jerk back, terror consuming me. My immediate thought is that he’s hired somebody to shut me up, but when I turn around and meet Melissa’s nervous eyes, the thought passes.
“Miss Watson?” she asks, loitering in the doorway. Her eyes shift to my father, her grip on the door handle tightening. Her gaze returns to me, her brows lifting. “Can I borrow you for a moment?”
“Yes,” I say, glancing back at my father. Then, I’m getting the hell out of there before I’m interrogated any further.
“You okay?” asks Melissa, frowning at my suddenly slumped posture.
I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Yeah. Thanks for asking.”
This doesn’t seem to put her at ease, but she knows better than to push for more. I sense her worried eyes on me as we make it back to my office.
Returning to the room, I turn back around. “What did you need me for?”
“Nothing,” she says, spinning around and leaving me to it.
I watch her walk away, her skirt flaring as she does so, heels clicking on the floor. It’s thanks to her that I got away easily. She clearly knows something is going on between me and my father—she wouldn’t dare to knock on his office and save me like that.
I got away from him by the skin of my teeth.
But next time, I might not be so lucky.