57. Chapter Fifty-Seven
And the talk show host poses the question to her Love Is in the Air guest, “What about the relationship between Graham Crowley and Christina Malloy? Did that surprise everyone? Rumors were that they didn’t get along on set and would often get into fights.”
“I guess it proves you can never judge a book by its cover,” the guest says.
* * *
I’m exhausted.
I stayed up and read Graham’s book—all of it. I couldn’t help myself, even though I knew I needed to get to my father’s office so early.
As the elevator comes to a stop on the floor that houses his office, I draw in a deep, calming breath, and look down at my dog.
Where I go, my dog goes.
Dolly walks so close to me as we walk through the door, she nearly knocks me over. I’m sure she’s feeling my hesitation in going to my father’s office.
My skin is hot. My heart is racing. My palms are damp, and I’m pissed off.
One of the things that changed the night that Graham and I walked that red carpet was me learning to lead my own narrative. Sure, we were tossed into something that we didn’t have much control over, and then we agreed to it, but that night, my eyes were opened.
When Graham pointed out that my parents hadn’t even checked up on me, or noticed that I’d left the awards ceremony, that was eye opening. Then, when I realized just how badly they treated those around them, it led me to realize how I treated Penny. Penny, of all people, who devotes herself to the success of my career—she deserved better. I hope over the past few months I’ve shown her how important she is to me.
And then there’s Graham. I never would have thought it possible that I would fall in love with him like I did—but I did. I chose to love him. I chose to set him free. I choose to amend that.
I shouldn’t be surprised that at six thirty, there are people moving about. Their day has already started.
My father’s assistant isn’t at his desk, and though I’m afraid of what’s on the other side of the door, I push it open and walk into his office.
The door to his private quarters is closed, and I’m relieved. I’m not sure what I would do if I saw someone else in there. But no doubt, there is probably someone in there.
My father is sitting behind his desk, and when I walk in, he lifts his head.
It’s six thirty in the morning, right on time. I’m there exactly when he asked me to be, and yet he looks toward the door as if he’s a bit surprised to see me. Oh, not that I can see his eyes. They’re shielded with sunglasses.
“The dog? In my office?” he says in lieu of good morning, or it’s nice to see you.
“She goes with me,” I say. “And since you demanded this is where I should be this early, she’s here.”
He presses his palm to his forehead before pointing to the chair in front of his desk—not asking me to sit, but rather suggesting I take the seat.
“I’m fine,” I say, choking up on Dolly’s leash to keep her tight to my side. “What did you want to see me about?”
My father picks up a piece of paper and pushes it in my direction. I take the step to pick it up.
I have to control my mouth to keep from smiling as I look down at a picture of Graham and me standing at the dog park in what appears to be a beautiful embrace.
Pushing the picture back toward my father, I pat Dolly’s side.
My father leans in on his forearms. “You’re forbidden to see him.”
A pain zips through my jaw I clench it so hard. “Forbidden,” I repeat the word. “I thought I was only contracted to not date him.”
My father chews on his bottom lip. “Christina?—”
“Did you have someone poised behind a tree to get that photo? I mean, I publicly broke up with the man, and I haven’t spoken to him in over five months. But the one time I happen to run into him at the dog park—and when I say run into him, that’s exactly what happened—and you have a photo of that. Isn’t that convenient?”
My father fists his hands on the top of his desk. “You’re not dating him?”
“My guess is that you’ve been having me followed in some way for this long. You know that I’m not dating him. Not only that, that picture is two weeks old. Your spies aren’t very good.”
“Christina,” he says again in a growl, as if that’s going to stop me from speaking.
“And why exactly is this such a big deal? Why couldn’t I be involved with a man that I love? A man that asked me to marry him?”
“You have a reputation to uphold, and it doesn’t include you running off with some two-bit actor.”
My heart is racing now as I inch closer to his desk. Dolly keeps herself pressed up against me as if to keep me not only protected but grounded.
“Two-bit actor? You’re the one that hired him to be your next big thing.”
“That’s business,” he says.
“Do you hear yourself? He’s not good enough for me, but you’ll spend millions on him?” Then I reconsider that. “Or am I not good enough for your new star?”
My father comes out of his chair, but I don’t step back. I’m not going to let him ever make me cower again.
“Your mother and I have worked very hard to get where we are. The least you can do is obey our wishes.”
I have Dolly’s leash wrapped around my hand so tightly I’m losing feeling in my fingers.
“I think the expiration date on me obeying your wishes ran out twelve years ago.”
“You signed a contract,” he says, his voice rising.
I nod. “I sure did.” Instead of resigning to the fact that I did indeed sign a contract that basically forbade me to be with the man I love, I begin to laugh.
“Christina,” he says my name again, as if this is how he controls me.
I hold up my free hand. “I quit,” I say, and my father’s eyes go wide.
“You can’t quit.”
“I sure can. I can breach the contract. I can walk away. I can be fined and sued, but I can quit.”
His lips flatten tightly, and he takes off his sunglasses. “I’ve never had you talk to me like this.”
“You’re right. For the past thirty years, I’ve been nothing but someone you parade around in front of the media to make it appear as if you have a good family.” I snort out another laugh. “I’ve walked the line my whole life. I’m not going to walk it anymore,” I say, my eyes focused on him.
“Contracts are what run this town,” he counters, because obviously he’s still stuck in the thought that he has control of me.
Easing my grip on Dolly’s leash, only slightly, I move from my position in front of his desk and walk toward the door that connects his personal space.
“Christina, what are you doing?” He takes a hurried step as I reach for the doorknob.
“How important are contracts, Daddy?” I ask, raising a brow, my hand gripping the knob. “If I open this door, I won’t find out how little long-term contracts matter, will I? Contracts that hold together marriages and families. I won’t find someone in here just cleaning?” I ask using air quotes with my free hand. “How important are those contracts?”
“Christina.” His voice lowers, but not in anger, I realize. There is a defeated grumble in him saying my name now.
“I love Graham, Daddy. I love him enough to walk away from everything. I love him enough to have signed your stupid contract so he could have the role he always wanted, and then I walked away for five months and resigned to never see him again. I love him enough to stand here and quit a movie I love and that I’m passionate about because, well, I still love him. And he’ll wait for me to finish this movie if I ask him to. But I really don’t want anything to do with a movie that you’re part of.”
“That’s enough.” His voice rises—and the knob on the door turns in my hand.
I step back as the door opens and Olivia Chase blinks tired eyes at me.
I turn my attention back to my father, whose eyes have gone wide. In this moment I know that extra amendment to my contract is null and void.
“Goodbye, Daddy.”