Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
SAVANNAH
I decide to walk to Five Sails. Clear my head before facing Dad.
It’s a decision that would probably have been easier if I hadn’t allowed Nix to dress me.
Wearing one of her sleek vintage dresses, a pair of her gorgeous Louboutin pumps, and my hair in an elegant French twist, it’s like I’m going to some chic society wedding.
But going all-out is part of our plan. Armor to play the role of a devoted media mogul’s daughter enjoying a special lunch with the man himself.
Leaning into the world he exists in with ease.
Allowing me to dig. Setting my father up to discover just how deep his betrayal runs.
All so I can gather enough ammunition to throw out some demands of my own, including killing the article about Hall Eight. Yep. Nix is a true warrior.
I march down Thurlow, keeping my eyes fixed on the prize.
And trying not to think about how the man I should be able to trust more than anyone on the planet is attempting to destroy my world.
Him going after the ladder is horrific enough, but to do it via Brodie?
So fucking calculating. But then, he’s Aiden Archer.
One of the world’s most powerful businessmen.
He hasn’t reached that position by playing buddies and handing out lollipops. Nix’s words.
I, on the other hand, am clearly just the total dumbass daughter. With such deep emotional wounds, I’ve ended up with sand for brains because I literally hadn’t even considered that Dad might already know every decision I’ve made.
Ignoring my complaining toes as they squish inside the Louboutins, I pace faster. The negative self-talk needs to leave the building. I haven’t got time to dwell because this afternoon I’m taking back control. The maker of my fate. My life. My choices. This time, Brodie’s words.
Brodie.
Continuing to pace, I remove my phone, toying for the hundredth time over whether I can switch it back on.
Just for a moment. Only to see if he’s replied to my messages.
I hover over the on button, but just like the last ninety-nine times, I picture my dad’s lackeys tracking me like I’m the target in some spy movie.
My stomach clenches and I hide my phone at the bottom of my tote.
Also borrowed from Nix. It might be a major overreaction, but once I started thinking all this through, I easily went as far as wondering if Dad has my phone tapped.
I mean, he owns the network, and at this point, I’m open to the possibilities of anything and everything.
As for Brodie, I hate how by default he’s ended up ensnared in all this when it’s got zero to do with him, but I’m clinging to the belief that the two of us will be okay. We’ll find a way. Eventually. We have to. Returning to a life without him simply isn’t an option.
Hanging a right at the Convention Center, I cover the final block at a sprint.
It’s showtime.
I barrel into the restaurant, sweating and out of breath.
The smarmy smile of the Five Sails ma?tre d’ greets me, his black hair as shiny as his patent shoes. “Mr. Archer is already seated at his table. Follow me.”
Smoothing my hair, I trail after the man, all the way reciting my new mantra.
I’m the maker of my fate. It’s my life. They’re my choices.
The words are so potent I can almost feel my tattoo burning against my rib cage.
That is, until I find myself facing my father, dressed to kill in Tom Ford and a blood-red tie.
“Darling.” He gathers me into his arms and I have a hard time handling the deluge of feelings that rushes me as if I’ve sat on a swarm of ants.
He looks like Dad. Impressive. Smart. He smells like Dad. More Tom Ford. And he feels like Dad. Strong enough to hold me upright in a hurricane. Distant enough that I’m left questioning what he’s thinking.
I nearly falter right there and then, my ankles wobbling.
“Champagne?” He holds out my cream-cushioned chair, ushering away the ma?tre d’ with a flick of his wrist.
I glance at the panoramic view of the North Shore mountains, the last of the winter snow glistening in the distance. My eyes sting, rallying against the threatening tears. “What are we celebrating?”
“Can’t a father celebrate spending time with his favorite daughter?”
“I’m your only daughter.”
“Yes. And if I had a hundred daughters, you’d still be my favorite.”
I reluctantly accept the champagne and clink his glass with mine before taking a sip.
A very small sip. I’ve only eaten one piece of dry toast since losing the entire contents of my stomach down the toilet bowl a few short hours ago.
I need to keep a clear head if there’s any chance at me playing today for the long game.
“So, how are you, Savannah? Working hard? Thesis coming along?”
Wow. Just wow.
I stare at him, my mouth falling open. His blue eyes that are so like mine.
His gestures smooth and easy, without even a hint at the lies he’s holding close.
I struggle to breathe, hit by the crushing reality that the man in front of me really is a total stranger.
And for better or worse, I’m absolutely nothing like him because I don’t have an ounce of his performance skills.
Which means I can’t possibly pull off what Nix and I planned.
I’m speaking before I’ve fully formulated any clear thoughts, my mouth running away without my head. “I don’t want to play games, Dad.” The words come out a little disjointed, emotion hacking at my voice.
I’ve shocked him. I can tell. Not because anything major happens, but there’s the tiniest twitch in the corner of his right eye. It’s one of his tells. Something that happens when he’s upset, angry, surprised. Anything negative. “I wasn’t aware we were playing a game, Savannah.”
Savannah. Another of his tells. I’m never darling when he’s unsettled.
I grip my hands together under the table. Screw the plan. “How long have you known?”
Dad’s eye twitches more sharply, but before he can answer, a waiter arrives. He’s different to the serving staff working the other tables. Wearing a suit not an apron. Older. Distinguished-looking. Dad always commands the best.
“Sir. Madam. Have you had time to consider the menu?”
“We’ll have the Kristal platter and a bottle of—”
“Sorry. No.” There’s no way in hell I can eat oysters and caviar today. I glance at the menu, aware Dad’s eyes are burning a hole into the top of my head. “I’ll have the chicken.”
“Sir?”
“The lobster.” He says it like he’s being forced to eat a McDonald’s Happy Meal. “And a Macallan. Double. No ice. With minimal disruptions.”
The waiter disappears with a discreet nod of his head.
I fix my gaze on Dad, forcing myself to maintain eye contact while silently willing him to take the baton. I’m not sure I’ll be able to voice my question a second time.
He draws his mouth into a line, his stare narrow and shrewd.
I wait. Like me, sometimes he needs time. Unlike me, his pauses are always about power. I’m just floored that I’m managing to wait this one out.
Eventually he sits back in his chair, shrugging off his suit jacket. “Garrett rang me the day you told him your plans.”
Holy shit. My thesis supervisor? Right back at the start? Dad’s known this whole fucking time and I literally had no idea? “He promised my secret was safe—”
“Savannah, have I not taught you anything? Always too quick with your trust.”
I gasp, struggling to believe his audacity. My hands grip tighter in my lap. “Guess you’re a perfect example of me being way too trusting.”
“Don’t be silly. You can always trust me.
I’m your father.” He rests his arms on the table between his cutlery.
It’s the ultimate power pose. “Nothing’s happened here that isn’t for your own good.
All I’ve been doing is following your progress while you get this little experiment out of your system. ”
“It’s not an experiment.” My voice catches.
“Whatever.” He waves his hand dismissively.
Goosebumps prickle down my spine. “How deep does this go? Have you had someone tailing me the whole time? Is my phone tapped?”
“Savannah, I’m your father. And as you pointed out, you’re my only daughter. There’s no crime in loving you and protecting your future.”
“No crime? Dad, you’re basically admitting that you’ve been secretly spying on me. For months. As if that’s the most normal thing in the world.” I falter, my head jumbled as the reality sinks in. Fucking hell. He really has had my phone tapped.
Picking up the table’s decanter of water, I pour myself a glass.
Our waiter uses the moment to deftly deliver Dad’s scotch.
I sip my water, still scrambling to work out my next move.
Dad capitalizes on my silence. “Clearly, I’ve also foolishly put my trust in someone who has let me down. We all make mistakes, Savannah.”
“I haven’t let you down, Dad. This has nothing to do—”
“Not you. Brodie. He gave me his word he would walk away.”
I drop the glass. It falls from my hand, bounces off the table, and lands with a thud on the thick carpet at our feet. The glass rolls. Ice and water splatter my legs.
Our waiter appears like an apparition. “I’ll just clean—”
“Leave it.” Dad’s voice silences the entire restaurant.
The waiter backs away, head bowed as if exiting an audience with a king.
I watch in a daze. Brodie. Dad mentioned Brodie. Dad’s seen Brodie? “When?”
“When what, Savannah?”
“When did you speak to Brodie?”
“This morning, of course. After Sullivan picked him up from outside your apartment.”
And there’s me thinking I have all the pieces. My hands grip together so tightly it’s a miracle my fingers remain attached. “Dad, what the hell do you mean? What did you say to Brodie? Did you threaten him? Please tell me you haven’t hurt—”
“Surely he already shared everything when he spoke to you.”
My lower lip has found its way between my teeth and I release it, aware I’m tasting blood. “I haven’t spoken to Brodie. He hasn’t answered my calls today.”
Dad’s eyes widen. Then he frowns. Then he adjusts his face back to neutral, picking up his scotch and taking a long drink. “If it’s not Brodie, how have you put this together?”
I shake my head. “I’m not saying another word until you tell me why you spoke to Brodie this morning.”
“All I did was remind him that he doesn’t have a place in your life. Admittedly, he’s grown up since we last spoke, but he got the message. Your relationship is over. For good, this time.” Another of his dismissive gestures.
It feels like a bomb has exploded behind my eyes. A bright white light. Intense heat. Shrapnel ricocheting across my body. “Oh my god. It was you. Even then, it was you.”
Dad swipes at his forehead. “Yes, Savannah. It’s always been me. But things have been resolved. You won’t be seeing Brodie again.”
The bomb’s aftershocks continue to batter me. Internally pummeling me to the ground until all that’s left is a flood of vicious red. “How fucking dare you?”
It’s the very first time I’ve ever said anything like this to my father.
His veneer slips a fraction, his face paling.
I plow on, capitalizing before my confidence crumbles. “Dad, you should think carefully about everything you say and do in the next few minutes because you’re so very close to never seeing me again.” I release my hands, emphasizing my point with a stab of my index finger against my chest.
“Savannah, darling, you’re overreacting. I understand this is a shock, but everything I’ve done has always been with your best interests at heart. You have to believe—”
“I don’t have to believe anything you say, Dad. Not anymore.” I drop my arms to the table with a thud, mirroring his earlier power move.
I might have taken a total diversion from our plan to go covert and gather information, but I know Nix would be proud if she could see me. Damn, I’m fucking proud of me.
Sitting taller, I will myself to stay strong.
“You say you love me. That all you’ve wanted is to protect me and my future.
But that isn’t what this is. This is about control.
And I’m taking the control back. This is my life, not yours.
You do not get to call the shots anymore.
” Shoving back my chair, I stand, leaning against the table because otherwise I’ll fall.
“I need time. And I’d appreciate you giving me the space to have that without someone tracking my every move.
When I’m ready to talk, I’ll be in touch.
In the meantime, if you really do care about me, you’ll kill that awful article about Ladder Eight and you’ll make sure Brodie’s actual feature is the one published.
There’s no future relationship between us if that doesn’t happen. Understood?”
He blinks, face ashen.
“Understood?” Weirdly, the authority I’ve managed to capture with my voice isn’t that dissimilar to my father’s.
He nods. Once. And then opens his mouth as if to speak.
I don’t give him the chance. I can’t. If I hesitate for just a moment, I have no idea what will happen.
Turning, I stagger through the restaurant, the sunshine outside calling me and the image of Dad’s shock seared into my brain forever.
My world has tilted off its axis. I need time to think. To process.
And most important of all, to work out how I can make all this right with Brodie.