Chapter 30
THIRTY
brODIE
“Brodie.” Aiden Archer strides over and grips my hand like a nutcracker. “My apologies for keeping you waiting. You must be hungry.” His smile says keeping me waiting for nearly an hour was precisely his intention.
I jump to my feet, still a few inches taller than him, and also now a fair bit broader in the shoulders. Yet somehow, I still feel like a try-hard college kid, cowering in the shadow of his bespoke suit, angular frame, and five-hundred-dollar aftershave. “Mr. Archer. It’s good to see you again.”
Why would I even say that?
It’s not. In fact, it’s the exact opposite.
It’s fucking horrific. Disarming. Terrifying.
Three-year-old memories of being in his Downtown private office, all leather-bound books and crystal decanters of obscenely expensive scotch.
Me sitting. Him standing. Being told I’m nowhere close to good enough for his perfect daughter.
That she’s going places in this world that I can only dream of.
And being involved with me will only hold her back.
That I risk destroying her entire future if I don’t let her go.
Mr. Archer smooths a hand over the blood-red silk of his tie, the scrap of material likely costing more than my entire wardrobe. “No need to look so scared, son. You’re not dealing with the Corleones here.”
I gulp. I’m not. This is worse than any Godfather storyline. This is pure cold reality. Aiden Archer’s reach is wide, his wealth astronomical, and his power off the charts. He’s the human embodiment of a Doberman. Sleek appearance. Calm until baited. Ferocious to the death when necessary.
He chuckles. The sound laced with ice. “Relax, Brodie. Let’s eat breakfast and talk.
I believe we have a lot to catch up on.” His hand moves to my lower back and he guides me through to a living area.
It’s spacious and opulent, with more Art Deco nods evident in the lighting fixtures and bold geometric black-and-gold carpet.
As I’m funneled through to a seat on a soft velvet couch, I scrabble to find my balls.
It’s tough. They bailed when the driver said my name, and I’m pretty sure they’re now on a beach in fucking Mexico.
But I can’t allow myself to sit here and take this like I did three years ago.
I know how Aiden Archer works. He throws out threats as jokes.
Controls the conversation to the point of me breathing only when he gives permission.
And in no time, he’ll have me bowing down to his every whim because no one says no to him. Ever.
I press my nails into my palm, breaking the skin. It’s the spark of pain I need to wake the fuck up. “Let’s cut to the chase, Mr. Archer. What is it you want with me?”
The outside corner of his right eye twitches a fraction. I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t watching him like a hawk. It’s the tiniest of tells but gives me a glimmer of satisfaction.
“Fine.” The word has a sharper edge, almost metallic. He paces slowly to the window, a view of Canada Place in the distance. He pauses and then turns. “What makes you think it’s okay to be back in my daughter’s life?”
I try to inhale without making a sound, desperate to keep my rising terror entirely to myself. “What makes you think I’m back in Savannah’s life?”
His flat palm slams against the window. The movement is whippet-quick and nearly makes me yelp.
When he speaks, however, his voice doesn’t reveal any of the same frustration.
If anything, it’s more controlled, the metallic edge now razor-sharp.
“Let’s not play, Brodie. Just over three weeks ago you were given an assignment to shadow the crew of Ladder Eight in Vancouver’s West End.
Disappointingly, I didn’t know anything about it until the wheels were in motion, but I came round to seeing the potential benefits so allowed things to run their course.
Fast-forward to today and you’ve been holed up in Savannah’s apartment for the past forty-eight hours after arriving there drunk on Sunday morning.
Other than when you left to pick up clothes, your laptop, and dinner—Chinese takeout, I believe.
Now, I’m no Hercule Poirot, but I’d put a hefty wager that you’ve been doing a lot more than writing your feature for the Herald this whole time. ”
Jesus. He actually has been following my every move. And I’ve been so busy falling back in love with his daughter, I’ve been entirely oblivious.
“And in case you’re thinking about massaging the facts…
” He strolls oh so casually to a table in the corner of the room and picks up a document wallet, not that dissimilar to the one I was given with the original feature briefing notes.
Opening it up, he removes a manuscript-sized pile of paper and throws it to the couch next to me.
Oh god. Not paper. Photos. Dozens of them. The one on top showing me kissing Savannah’s face off while we’re pressed against the tree under the cherry blossoms. I pick the picture up without thinking, my heart climbing into my throat.
“So, Brodie. I ask you again. Very calmly. Simply seeking a straightforward answer. What makes you think it’s okay for you to be back in Savannah’s life?”
“Uh…” The problem is, it’s not actually a question.
At least, there’s no answer I can give that will satisfy him.
He won’t believe the honest response. That I didn’t seek to go against his demands from three years ago.
How being back in Savannah’s life wasn’t even my doing.
I turned up for work, Savannah happened to be there.
A vision in navy shorts and a tee, sprinting with a rugby ball, her blonde hair streaking behind her, mud splattered over her toned legs. My knee bounces. “It wasn’t planned.”
“No. Of course. There’s rather a lot here that isn’t part of any plan.” He grits out a sigh.
I use the pause and another painful squeeze of my fists to keep speaking. If he knows all about me then that means he knows everything. Including the big news Savannah is planning on sharing with him over lunch today. “How long have you known about Savannah?”
His mouth twists with disgust as he eyeballs me. “The day she signed off with her thesis supervisor. He called and told me her plans.”
Fuck. “She has no idea.”
“And she won’t ever find out. She’s telling me herself at lunch today, and I’ll be reacting like it’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
“But why? If you’re so clear on what you want for her, why didn’t you come over here months ago and demand she finishes school?”
“Because despite what you might think, I’m not an ogre.
I’m letting her get this whole ridiculous calling out of her system.
She’ll be back in the fold in no time.” His jaw tightens.
“But not with you in her life. We’re done here, Brodie.
This little romance is over. And this time it needs to be over for good.
” He swallows. Hard. Like he’s choking something down.
His expression fleetingly hollow. “You won’t be seeing Savannah again.
” He reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
For a split second I expect to see a gun—that’s how much my head’s racing—but it’s a thick white envelope that appears.
He holds it out. “In here is a first-class ticket to Toronto. One way. There’s also the deed to a furnished apartment in your name.
Plus, a check to cover any other moving needs you have.
Lastly, there’s a contract for the position of features editor at the Herald’s sister paper, the Toronto Star.
” He hands me the envelope. “It’s all yours with one condition.
No goodbyes. No contact. Not now. Not ever. ”
I blink a handful of times, my peripheral vision blurring as if I have a visual migraine coming.
While I’m trying to unpick everything he’s shared, I open the envelope and peek inside.
Removing the first item, I find the check.
For fifty thousand dollars. The blurring in my eyes gets worse. I drop the envelope to my lap.
Mr. Archer stands over me, one hand in the pocket of his dress pants, the other back stroking his tie. “What do you say, Brodie?”
“I…”
“If you have no further questions, I’ll call Sullivan to take you to the airport. The flight leaves in three hours.”
Three hours? “But…” My head spins. This is fucking wild. I struggled to understand it the first time around, but now? It just makes zero sense. Like, literally no fucking sense at all.
Standing, I draw myself to my tallest height, the initial cyclone of chaos slowing to a pace I can get a vague handle on.
“Sorry, sir, but I need a little more information before I go anywhere. Especially before agreeing to move to the other side of the country.” My hand finds its way to my hair but I manage to stop myself from tugging at it.
Instead, I meet Mr. Archer head on. “What the hell is so wrong with me?”
“What?” He snaps the word. Impatient.
“Why are you so desperate to keep me away from Savannah?”
Another eye twitch. This one a little more pronounced.
He also gnashes his teeth. “I thought I made that perfectly clear three years ago. You are not the kind of man who my daughter can settle down with. She’s an Archer, meaning her future is flying higher than anything you could ever possibly offer her. ”
“Okay, fine. I’m a low-life bum with no prospects.
The problem is, I’m not that college kid you remember.
The kid who so easily believed he was worthless.
This shit isn’t landing with me this time.
” I stand taller still. “What’s to stop me from tearing this envelope in two and going straight to Savannah to tell her everything that’s happened here? ”