Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
cove
“Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.”
Emily Dickinson
Mr. Cole:
When can I see you again?
Once I can finally catch a break. Drowning in work and real life problems. Nothing you’re familiar with, I’m afraid.
Mr. Cole:
Judgment doesn’t suit you, Cove. Care to try again?
I fly to Chicago tomorrow for a 48 hr turnaround. Then, back home for a day. A week in Paris the next. Not sure I have room to even try, country boy.
Mr. Cole:
Such a shame. I guess I’ll have to take a number and wait in line? I won’t mention how much I appreciate the nickname either.
So be it. Might be a while.
Mr. Cole:
Actually.
Mr. Cole:
I take that back. Waiting isn’t my style. See you in Chicago.
What? No. No. No.
What does he mean he’ll see me in Chicago? As in, he’ll meet me in Chicago for my layover? What in the actual fucking bananas is this madness?
He can’t just show up whenever and wherever he wants. I forbid it. Kind of. Not really, but still.
As much as I want to overthink Stetson’s words and pry further, I can’t right now. Not when I’m seconds away from speaking to my sperm donor for the first time in twenty-one years.
I’ve gone through a mix of emotions getting up to this point. Shifting from fire-burning adamancy to reach out and do what needs to be done, while also second-guessing every minor possibility.
Will this ruin all the progress I’ve made, making myself the woman I am today without him?
Will I experience grief all over again?
Or will I hate him even more—if that’s even possible? Will I make it my life’s mission to let him see how happy I am without him? It would be the worst lie I ever told, but he doesn’t need to know that, nor does he deserve to.
Truth be told, it doesn’t matter how I feel. What matters is what he can give me. I never thought in all my thirty years of living that I’d be that woman. The one who uses someone for money. But when it comes to Nathaniel McIntosh, all limits are off the table.
His dirty money is mine for the taking. Well, I’m hoping so.
I took today off from flying, knowing I would need time and a strong beverage to hype myself up for this call. My mother knows nothing about this, and she never will. It’s a secret I’ll take with me to my grave.
I can imagine the fit she would throw, forbidding me to ever insist on saving her again. She has no idea the lengths I’d go to help her. To make sure she lives a life she wants—comfortably and without worry or debt.
I’m going to give her that.
I’ve been anxiously pacing my bedroom, gripping my phone like it’ll take the call for me, and do all the talking. I threw back a shot of whiskey, begging it to settle my nerves. But I hate whiskey, and all it did was make the bitterness in my chest burn hotter.
I can do this.
I don’t need to make small talk. Just greet him. Avoid calling him Dad. And ask for my money. Simple as that, right?
I pick up the torn piece of paper from my bed with scribbles written across it and hold it in my hand. My nerves have a mind of their own right now, cold hands shaking uncontrollably.
I talk myself through even breaths, thankful to even come to a place where I have the option to call him.
It seems knowing people of a much higher pay scale than you does have its perks.
All it took was one call to my client, who works for the Forensic Investigators Unit here in Miami, and I had all the information I didn’t already know on Nathaniel McIntosh.
Age fifty-two. Married to Misty McIntosh. What kind of stripper name is that? One daughter—Emma McIntosh. Not a single trace of the daughter he abandoned, either, I see. Chief Operating Director of McIntosh Motors. I figured as much. You can’t build a multi-million-dollar empire overnight.
And written at rapid-fire speed is his office phone number.
555-616-8014 ext: 671
A knock on my bedroom door startles me, causing me to drop the phone. “Ah!”
“You call him yet? I can hear your stomach gurgling from here,” Betsy calls from the other side of the door. “Better get those nervous poops out now before dear ole Daddy doesn’t just hear his daughter’s voice for the first time in twenty-one years, but her shit hitting the toilet water, too.”
I grab the nearest thing I can find and launch it at the door. “Go away.”
The pack of gum hits the wood with hardly any force before falling to the floor. “Just call him, babe,” her voice projects just above a whisper. The silence in my room is deafening compared to my overactive heartbeat.
A small note slips under the door in true Betsy fashion, revealing one of her many well-rounded sides. I pick up the note and immediately feel the tension in my chest release.
You’re better than him. He never deserved you.
Do what you have to do.
But don’t forget who you are, Cove.
You’re a Davenport now.
He doesn’t get to take that from you.
Betsy’s compassion cancels out her crazy.
My best friend is a keeper, and thanks to her, I’m reminded of the main thing. Getting what I need and expecting nothing in return, because nothing is all he’s ever given me.
With rejuvenated confidence, I pick up the phone and dial his number.
I bring the phone to my ear and take a seat against the marbled bay window overlooking the city, tirelessly awaiting my fate.
If things don’t pan out the way I hope, then I’ll have no choice but to reevaluate.
Come up with a new plan to cover the renovation costs.
Three rings later, and a soft, feminine voice comes through the other line. “Thank you for calling McIntosh Motors. This is Brooke. How may I help you?”
I clear my throat. “Hi. I’m looking for Nathaniel McIntosh, please.”
“Mr. McIntosh is in his office. May I ask who’s calling?”
Shit. “His daughter…” I mutter, remembering he does have a daughter, who I’m positive he’d make time for a phone call with.
“Oh, Emma! Hi. How’s college? Your father tells me you’re studying aerospace engineering.”
He even went and made a replica of himself…
“Staying busy,” I say, hoping to cut this conversation short.
“Glad to hear that. Don’t be a stranger, okay? I’ll transfer you over to your father now.”
“Thank you.”
Elevator music plays while I wait to be connected. It’s hard to believe this is a moment in time I once dreamed about experiencing again. Now, I dread it. Only because I know the truth—the same truth my mother will never learn about herself.
Speaking to my deadbeat father is the last thing I want to do right now. Not to mention, requesting payment. I really hope my mom sees how much I love her at the end of all this.
“Emma. Hi. How was the seminar this weekend?” The voice that once felt like its own brand of comfort to me speaks. Except, instead of the ease that should come with a father’s voice, I only feel suffocation and anguish.
“Wrong daughter.”
You’d think I made a nationwide threat with the gasp he makes. “Cove,” he deadpans, knowing exactly who I am.
“It’s me,” I say. “It’s been wonderfully long since we last talked.”
His tone takes on a level of grit I’m not a fan of. “How’d you get this number?”
“I have my ways. Just like I’m sure you do, too. Aren’t you happy to hear from me? It’s only been twenty-one years.”
“That life is behind me.” As much as I hate him, his comment stings.
No daughter ever wants to hear her father is happy to be rid of her.
“Trust me, I’m aware,” I sneer. “Listen, I’m not calling to make small talk and catch up on all my daddy issues. I’m here because I need something from you.”
“You need money.” There’s far too much pride in his tone. “Fucking predictable,” he sputters.
A sour feeling fills me. “God forbid you give your daughter a dime of your fortune. Or should I ask for more and bankrupt you while I’m at it?”
His sinister laugh is not what I expect to hear. “Not possible. I’m far too wealthy for that. But I must say, it’s a little late for needing money, wouldn’t you say? That ship sailed years ago. What are you, twenty-something now?”
“I’m thirty. Not that I expected you to remember your own daughter’s birthday, but I’ll overlook it.” I hope the venom and hate in my tone portrays the way I feel inside. He needs to know I loathe every second of this conversation. “You really are making it so easy for me to hate you.”
He ignores me. “So, why now, then? At this point, I’d fully expect you to have your shit together. At least, any McIntosh daughter of mine should.”
“It’s a good thing I’m not your daughter, then. And it’s Davenport.”
“I see,” he replies calmly, and I’m smart enough to expect he has something to counter with. Men like him always do. Although a bitter and callous response to the child that shares his DNA still poses a bit of a surprise.
That’s okay. Hating him more than I already do will make taking his money that much easier.
“How much money is it that you want, Cove? Five thousand? Ten? What is it? Get on with it so I can get back to business.”
Son of a bitch.
“Two hundred thousand.”
His laugh is twisted and sickening. “You’re joking.”
“Not even a little bit.”
“What could you possibly need that kind of money for?”
So he’s done his research on me. Lovely.
“The money is for something else. Something important.”
“Your mother.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“You don’t get to ask about her. You lost that right when you left.”
“Fair enough,” he grumbles. “I suppose it’s no loss for me to know the details. But say I give you the money…what do I get in return?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You think I owe you something? Oh, that’s real rich.”
“No, but I am.” My sad and pathetic sperm donor laughs.
“Are you willing to help me, or not? If not, just say it. That way I can send you the middle finger in peace, and you’ll never have to hear from me again.”
The line falls quiet for a moment before he speaks. “I’ll give you the money. Under one condition.”
I knew this was a mistake.
“I’m listening,” I say, knowing I don’t have a choice.
“I’m in the middle of finalizing a major business deal. I can’t give details, but let’s just say my colleague has been…less than flexible. He has expectations that I’ve been unwilling to fulfill…until now.”
“And what does that have to do with me?”
I have a feeling I’m not going to like this.
“Since my daughter, Emma, is off to college and I’m not willing to offer her up, you’re my best option here.
I need you to meet me in Texas for one week and warm the arm of my colleague’s son.
Allow him to wine and dine you. Make him think you’re open to the possibility of marriage.
Play the dutiful daughter, and at the end of the week I’ll give you the money. Simple as that.”
Unbelievable. It’s just my luck that my own father would sacrifice me for his business and protect his other daughter.
What did I ever do to deserve this?
I need to remain composed. The last thing I want is for him to see how much his words destroy me. “I’m not marrying anyone.”
“No need to. Your job is to convince him you will for one week. Until the deal is secured, at least. Then, you’re free to break things off.
I need Harrison Hartwell to believe acquisition by McIntosh Motors is the right move.
And since he’s nearing retirement, his son, Austin, will be taking over his legacy.
He wants Austin married and on the path to success before handing over the torch.
His job will be to oversee the Hartwell side of the acquisition.
I will be depending on you to fulfill that. ”
“So, this is all just a ploy for you to get more money? Lying to people and conning them into trusting you?”
“Oh, I can assure you, Cove. There’s nothing in this world I love more.
Acquiring Harrison’s company will put me in an entirely different hemisphere of wealth.
In fact, if you pull this off, I’ll not only give you the money you’re asking for, but increase it enough that you never have to contact me again. ”
Is he serious? I don’t have it in me to be affected by his low blow.
Not when he just threw around the idea of more money than I asked for.
How can I possibly feel hope when none of this is ethical or right?
I’m not thrilled it comes from him, but the promise that my mom would never have to struggle again?
Never have to work back-to-back doubles for the rest of her life?
Maybe even afford decent therapy for her back injury?
That kind of financial freedom is priceless.
But at the cost of bending to my father’s will and schemes…
Yet, I can’t help but remind myself that it’s time for him to pay his dues. My mom has paid enough.
“This is wrong,” I state. “So fucking wrong.”
“But you’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?” he counters, only making his villain persona in my head ten times worse.
I can do this. It’s only for a week. I can pretend to be in love with anyone for that long.
“I’m in.”
Clattering across a keyboard fills my ears before he speaks again. “That’s what I like to hear. Pack for a week. Something appropriate for a cocktail party as well. Email my assistant your information, and I’ll have her forward your flight details. We begin in three weeks.”
It seems I’ll have very little time after my work trip to Paris. I need to confirm with my boss that I can take time off, but it shouldn’t be a problem.
But also, he said we?
“What do you mean by ‘we?’ I thought this was only about me?”
“As if I would trust you to perform on your own. I’ll be joining you for the week. Just to make sure all goes as planned. Wouldn’t want this deal to be tainted in any way. Trust me, you won’t even know I’m there.”
HA. Doubt it.
Dread sinks to the deepest pits of my stomach, wondering if I’ll be forced to stay with his new wife. “Okay, then. Where are we staying?”
“You’ll find out when you get here. Oh, and Cove?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t forget to act like a loving daughter in the eyes of my peers. Everything is riding on this. Don’t fuck it up because of old feelings.”
Tears threaten to spill from my eyes, but I fight them off. I have no space in my heart for someone so cruel. Tears indicate caring, and no part of me cares for this stranger. Not a single bit.
“Don’t worry. Hating you with a mask on should be no different than the one I wear proudly every day. I’ll be the daughter you always wanted,” I tell him with an edge in my voice that I know he picked up.
“See you then.” And he hangs up.
Well, the good news is—I’ll have the money to fix Mom’s house in nearly a month. The bad news? I just signed my soul away to the devil.
The question is…how much will he tarnish it?