Chapter 62
SIXTY-TWO
It’s been a shitty few days. Mainly because I’ve been fighting with myself almost non-stop since I got back to New York.
I want to call her. I want to figure out a way past the Hawthorne’s security and sneak up to her hotel suite and bang on her door.
I want to stake out Blackwell Tower and snatch her off the street.
I want to do a lot of crazy shit but when it comes to Millie, that’s nothing new. I’ve been fighting a losing battle against myself since the moment I met her.
Instead of calling or kidnapping her, I do the smart thing and leave her alone. She’ll call me eventually. I know she will because Millie is as addicted to me as I am to her. Sooner or later, she’ll call and when she does, I’ll come running. There’s no use in pretending otherwise.
So, I wait.
And while I wait, I work.
Getting into the office before Natalia—she has class on Mondays so I won’t see her until the afternoon—I make coffee and check my emails. There’s one from Jase Bright—a reminder that he’d made an offer to buy me out months ago and I still haven’t given him an answer.
Dean –
I’m going to keep this short. I realize by now that you’re not going to sell to me.
I get it—I wouldn’t sell to me either, no matter what the offer was.
But if you’re not willing to sell, consider a partnership.
Not with the Bright Group. With me personally.
We can meet later in the week and go over numbers.
I’m sure we can come to mutually beneficial terms.
Jase
Partnering with Jase Bright would be a smart move.
It would give me the infusion of cash I need to take Bar-None to the next level.
Since the latest video of Paige and me fighting at the hotel bar surfaced, my inbox and voicemail has been flooded with requests and inquiries—not all of them business related.
Mr. Mercer, this is Brian Stack with the Boston police department. We’ve gotten numerous calls, reporting a sexual assault that took place at the Hawthorne, last Friday night, of which you are the alleged victim. If you could call me back at…
Hitting reply on my email from Jase, I tap out a quick reply.
Jase –
I’ll be by your office after lunch. We can talk about it then.
Dean
After that, I buried my head in account contracts and payroll until my stomach nearly took a bite out of my backbone, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since last night.
Digging a protein bar out of my desk and stealing a cup o’noodles from Natalia’s I use the electric kettle to heat up some water. Ten minutes later, I’m shoveling noodles into my mouth when I hear the outer door to my office open and close.
“Took your last ramen cup,” I call out. “I’ll buy you—” Looking up when a shadow falls over my desk, I don’t find my assistant, standing in my doorway, ready to brain me for stealing her food.
I find Millie’s father, watching me from the doorway in one of his seemingly endless supply of custom Tom Ford suits.
Dropping my spork into the styrofoam cup in front of me, I sit back in my seat and wait because I knew this was coming.
I’d made him a promise and broke it. I told him I’d stay away from his daughter.
I didn’t and I’m not going to. The only way I’m going to leave Millie alone is if she tells me to and even then, I’m not sure I’ll be able to.
Looking up at him, I shake my head. “If you’re waiting for an apology—”
“No,” Preston shakes his head. “I—” Frowning at the cup of noodles on my desk like he has no idea what it is, he looks up at me. “Is that your lunch?”
“Yeah.” Hunching over my desk, I fork noodles into my mouth as if to prove it.
Sitting back, I chew enough to clear my mouth.
“I bought your daughter shoes this weekend so my pastrami and potato salad money is stretched a little thin.” Because he has no idea what I’m talking about and probably doesn’t care, I give him a sigh.
“Like I said—if you’re here for an apology—”
“I’m not here for an apology.” He tips his head at one of the chairs parked in front of my desk. “You mind if I sit?” he asks, his tone pointed enough to tell me that he thinks I should’ve made the offer on my own. “There are some things I think we should talk about.”
“I’m not discussing my relationship with Millie,” I tell him bluntly while he moves into the room. “There’s not going to be any negotiations. You can threaten me as much as you want—I’m going to see your daughter as much as she’ll let me, in whatever capacity she’ll allow.”
“Because you love her,” he says with a flat, unreadable smile.
“Yes,” I answer him even though I just said that Millie isn’t a subject I’m willing to discuss. “Because I love her.”
For a long moment, all we do is sit here and stare at each other. Finally, he clears his throat on a nod.
“Conner Gilroy was in my office, bright and early this morning,” he informs me. “He’s an odd fellow.”
“Yeah.” Setting my lunch to the side because I’m suddenly not hungry, I give him a nod. “He is.”
“You know him—which explains why you weren’t at all worried when I told you that he was the one I had looking into the texts, documenting Paige and Allister’s affair.”
“I wasn’t worried because I knew they were real and I knew I didn’t send them to Millie,” I tell him with a shrug.
“I also know that Conner Gilroy is the smartest person on the Eastern Seaboard and if he’s involved in this mess, there’s a very good reason.
Someone fucked up somewhere and it wasn’t me. ”
Millie’s father makes a non-committal sound in the back of his throat before looking over the side of his chair, aiming his gaze at the floor. Looking back up at me, he frowns. “Is that blood?”
“Yup.” I flatten my mouth on a nod. “Allister was in here a few days ago. He said some things about your daughter that I took exception to.”
“You hit him?” He doesn’t sound concerned or disapproving at the thought.
“He called Millie a whore,” I tell him bluntly. “He’s lucky he didn’t leave my office in pieces and stuffed into a trash bag.”
When I say it, the line of Preston’s mouth hardens and he looks away like he’s trying to compose himself.
When he finally looks back at me, his expression is carefully schooled.
“I knew all about him,” he confesses. “I knew his real name. I knew he didn’t go to Columbia. About the arrests. I knew everything.”
“You had him checked out.” It’s not a question. Of course he did. He’s Preston Blackwell and Millie is his daughter. I’d be willing to bet he has former CIA on his payroll that don’t do anything more than dig for dirt, all day long. “You knew and you never told Millie.”
“The legal infractions were minor—a few drug charges and solicitation in college,” he tells me, trying to explain things from his point of view.
“When I confronted him about it, he told me the drugs were found in a car, he just happened to be driving and the woman he was charged with soliciting was a woman he picked up in a Vegas hotel bar, and that the name change was to avoid complicating his future with his past indiscretions.”
“And you believed him?”
Preston’s mouth goes flat because he can hear the are you fucking stupid? in my tone. “What mattered was that he seemed to be on the straight and narrow now and that he made my daughter happy.”
“Except for the fact that he was screwing your niece behind everyone’s back,” I say, not willing to let him off easy. “Did you know he didn’t even pay for Millie’s engagement ring? She did. She paid for everything. That bottom feeder was leeching off her, from day one and you never said a word.”
“Yes, well…” Sitting up like I just took a swing at him, Preston nods. “I didn’t want to interfere. She’s a grown woman and—”
“You offered me money and threatened to ruin me if I didn’t leave her alone,” I remind him. “That’s a fuck ton of interference for someone who just wants his daughter to be happy.”
“You’re right.” He gives me a frank nod. “After everything that happened—most of which I felt my silence was partly to blame for—when Paige called me and told me about your… involvement with Mille, I over corrected.”
“Over corrected?” I bark out, the words sandwiched between a harsh laugh. “Okay…” Shaking my head, I swipe a heavy hand over my face. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
“I like you, Dean,” he tells me matter-of-factly. “I’ve always liked you. You’re an honest, hard-working young man.”
“But I’m not good enough for your daughter,” I finish for him quietly.
“Quite frankly—no, you’re not,” he tells me bluntly. “But to be fair—no one is.”
“Well, something we can agree on.”
Again, we look at each other for a long moment, assessing one another.
“Being a Blackwell isn’t easy,” he tells me. “Every relationship outside the family has strings. Everyone wants something. Everyone has expectations. I won’t apologize for trying to anticipate yours.”
“Sir, you don’t have to anticipate shit,” I say. “All you have to do is ask me.”
“Alright…” Leaning forward in his seat, Millie’s father looks me in the eye. “What do you want from my daughter, Dean?”
“I don’t want anything from her,” I tell him honestly.
“I just want her.” Shaking my head on a sigh, I sit back in my seat.
“I know that must seem impossible to you—that someone like me could look at your daughter and see something other than opportunities and dollar signs but that’s because you don’t know her—how incredible she is—and you don’t know me.
” Because there’s no use in trying to make him believe me, I stop trying.
“I don’t need your approval, Mr. Blackwell.
All I need is for Millie to give me a chance to prove it to her, so do your worst because making her happy is the only thing I care about. ”
“I had my people look into you too,” he tells me after a long moment.
“I’m sure you did,” I tell him with a nod.
I’m not worried. I know exactly what his people found.
I grew up in Fenway. My father and little brother are crabbers.
My mom works part time in the elementary school cafeteria.
I was an Eagle Scout. I worked my ass off in high school and graduated with a 3.
9 GPA. I went to NYU. I have an MBA. I’m the first Mercer to go to college.
I go home every year for Thanksgiving and I order more take-out than I can afford.
That’s it. That’s all there is. No arrests.
No scandals. No skeletons. Aside from my unhealthy and sometimes debilitating obsession with his daughter, there’s absolutely nothing remarkable about me.
“She knows,” Preston confesses quietly. “That I offered you money to leave her—Conner Gilroy told her.”
“I didn’t ask him to.” I give him a head shake. “I didn’t even know that he knew about that.”
“I believe you,” Preston says with a wry chuckle. “Something tells me there’s not much that young man needs to be told.” Laughter dying in his throat, he looks at me, suddenly serious. “I’m sorry, Dean. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for everything.”
“Yeah…” Giving him a commiserating nod, I sigh. “So am I.”