LANA #2
“Tell me where you plan for Sadie Lawrence to sleep,” I say, flipping through my file folders to find the accommodation setup.
“Every trailer is already accounted for, and getting another one before she arrives tomorrow — dickhead — is not going to happen. It’s also going to eat into the accommodation budget that I already thinned so it could be dispersed into catering to get everyone eating the right food for optimal productivity.
If you think I’m only mucking around with the feed rates of pay-dirt through the sluice boxes, and shaving a few seconds off the routes used by loaders and rock trucks here and there, you are fucking mistaken, sir.
I have this shit honed for productivity right down to the fucking music your crew will listen to. Where is she sleeping? Your place?”
Dad’s eyebrows plunge downward. “No.”
“Why not? If you’re going to fuck her, she’ll need to be in close proximity. You can’t just fuck her in your office every day and then send her away each night. She’ll think you don’t care about her,” I point out. “Have you thought any of this through?”
“Not really.” Dad’s face is bright red again, and he loosens his collar. “And I feel very uncomfortable talking to you about it. Please stop.”
I set the accommodation schedule aside with a sigh and run through his late-additions list again, putting marks beside things I’ll need to prioritize. “I still need an answer.”
“She can bunk with you,” he says, sounding pleased with himself.
“No. She most certainly cannot.” I glare at him.
“That’s not happening. You have a spare room; you take her.
Let love blossom. Think of all that easy access — the warmth you could supply on cold nights, followed by secret smiles over morning coffee.
It’s a hotbed of opportunity ripe for kindling romance.
If you want to see fast results, you need to throw in a catalyst, and under those conditions, the relationship will either happen or it won’t.
It’s really up to you. Either way, I refuse to share my single-sized trailer with your booty call.
I can’t listen to her bitch about you being a creepy stalker-boss or the opposite if she’s going to be gushing about you being the best lay she’s ever had.
Just, no. Plus, I need my privacy for any gentleman callers I might want to bang. No fucking way is she living with me.”
Dad’s gripping his desk, and his knuckles are basically white from the strength he’s using to keep his shit together.
“It would be inappropriate to move her into my place, Goose,” he says, working hard to force the words evenly through his teeth. “How would that look? She probably doesn’t even know that I like her. I don’t even know. Maybe I don’t like her.”
“Yeah, but you don’t hate her,” I remind him with his own words, laughing at my joke.
He’s not laughing.
“C’mon, Dad. That was funny. I bet if anyone else had been here to hear it, they’d have laughed.”
“Then let that be a lesson about audience,” he suggests. “Like learning not to mention your intention to entertain men in your trailer to your father. And while we’re at it, I don’t think gentlemen bang.”
“I said I’d be banging them,” I clarify with a straight face. “And I think even the gentlest of menfolk could be driven to really nail a woman, given the right motivation.”
His hands fly to his ears. “Lana.”
I lean back in my chair and fold my arms. He’s missed almost all of my growing up, so maybe I’m frozen in time for him at the point we last really knew each other. Maybe I’m still three years old in his mind. I wait patiently for him to lower his hands.
“Is it safe?” he asks in a tone that suggests it had better be.
I give him a quizzical eyebrow twitch. “I guess. Can I ask a question?”
“Is it about banging?” he snarls.
“Not directly,” I say, keeping my tone casual and light so he won’t get all weird again. “Do you want to be a grandfather one day?”
Eyes glued to mine, he grips the arms of his chair as if he needs extra support. “Where’s this headed?”
“Well, Martha’s as much of a workaholic as you are, and it’s really physical work — plus, I’m pretty sure she’s in love with the enemy. Do you think she’s interested in having a truckload of kids?”
Dad sits up a little straighter. “You think she’s in love with Reed?”
“I’m ninety-three percent sure it’s love, but if you happen to know the size of his dick, I could be more accurate. If you do know and the answer is big, then I can probably confirm the hundred, but we don’t need to split hairs.”
Dad holds up his hand and covers his mouth as if he might throw up. When he’s recovered enough to speak, he shakes his head. “No way. She hates him.”
“It’s a love-hate situation, yes. More of a ‘hates that she loves him’ scenario, I think. Anyway. Kids on that horizon, you think?” I ask, directing him back to the original question.
Dad says nothing, and I nod. “Your silence speaks volumes, so let’s move on to Harper. Dear, sweet young Harper with her obsessive need to maintain a ‘fashion-ready body’ as she puts it. Do you see a baby bump on that kid anytime in the next ten to fifteen years?”
He’s just level-staring at me again. He understands what I’m saying now that I’ve made him consider the facts.
“You’re fifty-one, Dad. I’m your only hope of having grandkids before you’re too old to run around with them.
Think about it. It’s like a second chance to redo all the things you regret not doing with your own kids, but with none of the parental responsibility.
Sounds fun, right? Well, you’re in luck.
I happen to adore children — with their non-judgmental ways and unconditional love — and I plan on having a shit-ton of them once I’ve got some of the finer details ironed out. ”
Dad rubs at the creases in his forehead.
“By finer details, do you mean setting yourself up financially and finding a partner? You told me on the ride here that the probability of a romance in your future was bleak. I was relieved… until you brought up this fucking grandkid conversation. How many kids are there in a shit-ton, exactly? And if people are all bullshitting dickheads like you said, where does that leave this idea of yours? Are you going to be one of those test-tube baby mamas? By yourself? It’s fucking hard, Goose. What the fuck?”
“I’m very good at juggling, and yes, finances and a partner are all part of the equation. Why do you think I made you up the ante in the wager? I want my cut to be big enough to be a down payment on a house. A big one. With a big yard. I know what I’m doing, Dad.”
His side-eye is condescending as fuck. “I don’t think you do, Goose. You’re twenty-one. Live a little.”
“Twenty-two,” I correct him. “And I live plenty.”
He narrows his gaze, as if measuring just how much living I could have done without his knowing.
And apparently I look like I’ve done at least a little living, because in his next breath, he rumbles at me in a disparaging tone.
“Well, you won’t be having gentlemen fucking callers on my mine site. You’re sharing a trailer with Sadie.”
“Wha—?” I’m about to argue when I see right through his bullshit once more. “Oh.”
“Oh what?”
“This tantrum is about Sadie,” I say, looking him squarely in the eyes. “You want us to be roomies because you don’t want her to fuck anyone else. Smooth, Dad. If you had my interests at heart, I might listen, but you don’t. You have your own fucking agenda, and I’m being punished for it.”
“You are not,” he cries, pressing his hand to chest like I’ve wounded his honor. “What am I punishing you for?”
“Anything you see fit,” I growl at him. “How the fuck would I know? I’ve done nothing wrong, but I am definitely being punished here. She’s not sleeping in my trailer.”
“She is.”
“Fine.” I check over the options. “She can have it, and I’ll find another space.
I’m not sharing with my new young stepmom-to-be.
It’s too awkward for me, and it’ll come out in very direct, offensive ways.
I’ll ruin your chances with her. If you’re not going to take her in — which is definitely the fastest way to test your compatibility — then give her the guest trailer, and I’ll bunk elsewhere. ”
Dad drags his hand down his face. “Matters of the heart can be sensitive, Goose. Not everything should be done as fast and efficiently as possible.”
God, it’s like we’re from different planets. How we’re even related, I have no idea.
“Dad, I respectfully fucking disagree. This meeting is over.” I raise his late-additions list. “I have a ton of extra work to do, starting with rearranging accommodation. Are there any other surprises, or is this definitely it? Because if someone new shows up, I will purposely put some filthy-hot guy in with your lady friend, and there’s no way they won’t get cozy inside that little trailer. ”
He stares at me. “Is that a threat?”
“Do you need one?” I stare right back, unperturbed by any challenge.
Dad sucks on his side teeth as he considers my stubborn-as-fuck nature. “No. On your bike, then.”
He gestures at the door, and I head for it.
“Hey, Goose?”
“Mm?”
“Good chat,” he says, rubbing the sides of his brow as if he has a headache. “Terrifying, but good.”
I nod and give him a fake salute before ducking out.