Quest (The Boys of RDA Book 4)

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  When Grant returns to the room, I’m on the bed logging into Dragons Reborn in the exact spot he left me. He never needs to know about the quick potty break where I again considered going in to work. Since one look in the mirror showed my face looks like death, I peed and came back to bed. My eyes lazily make their way in his direction when he stops in front of my desk and places a large overstuffed vase full of white lilies and a bunch of other flowers I don’t know the names for.

  “From my grandma,” he says before I question him.

  It doesn’t explain much. “Your grandma bought me flowers?”

  “I told her you were sick, and this display is how she handles it.” He shrugs. “She’s from another generation.”

  He throws the small floral card on top of the laptop and I flip it over to read her message.

  Get well soon.

  ~ Love Grandma Moore

  I laugh at the sendoff. It seems Grant isn’t the only Moore who gets overly attached.

  “She was super nice.” I’d want a grandma like Grant’s if I had one.

  Grant settles back on the bed. “She is nice. Just don’t wear white after Labor Day.”

  He says the words so seriously I laugh and start another coughing fit.

  “I’m serious,” he says his eyes wide. “She takes her fashion super seriously.”

  His reply makes me laugh harder. “But yet she lets you out of the house?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  I raise an eyebrow at him. “Do you remember the outfit you were wearing the night we first met?” The bright colored pinstriped jacket I first saw him in still makes my head shake. Most of the time he’s dressed as a normal person, but Grant always looks like he stepped off a boat somewhere on the East coast.

  **

  I distinctly remember falling asleep next to Grant sometime in the late afternoon, but when I wake up the bed beside me is empty. The room is completely dark so I’m cautious when I put my feet on the floor in case there’s a laptop left down there.

  Throughout the entire day Grant continued to push fluids down me, handing me a glass of water every few minutes. At first I refused on annoying principle alone. I’m tired of being told what to do by the males in my life. Eventually my dry throat caught up with me and I relented. With the water going to my kidneys it makes sense I’d be up in the middle the night with the urge to pee.

  There’s light escaping underneath Grant’s closed bedroom door, but I walk by and maintain my path to the bathroom. After my business is done and my hands are washed, the light is still shining on the hardwood floors as I walk back to my room. I divert the few feet and give a light rap on his door.

  The door opens a smidge with the weight of my knock, but I wait to push it in until Grant answers with a “Come in.”

  He’s lying on his bed, his back propped up against a few pillows. His sheets and comforter wrapped up around his waist and a laptop sits open on his lap. There’s no sound coming from the computer, but shades of light expose Grant’s chest and change color every few moments. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s watching porn and I back out of the door.

  “Where are you going?” he asks before I make it and I’m so thankful it’s dark in the hallway because my face must be a crimson shade of red.

  “Um… I was seeing what you were doing… I’ll go,” I stumble over my words to make a hasty retreat.

  “Stop, Clare.” He works on standing up, putting the laptop to his side and throwing back the covers.

  From a new angle I see it wasn’t weird fetish porn but the Dragons Reborn game on his screen. No longer embarrassed at what I caught him not doing, I step into the room.

  “Where did you get an emerald?” he asks sliding back into bed and covering.

  I walk further into the room and push on his shoulder to get him to move over while laughing. “From the chest in the dungeon where you tried to steal a diamond before I saw.” It’s safe to say we’re both underhanded Dragons Reborn players.

  Grant laughs wiping back a piece of hair from his forehead. “Yeah, I did do that.”

  “Why are you going through my chest in the first place?” I ask leaning over to see the screen better.

  “I’m moving them. I figured if you want to stay on this server I’ll start over. But your castle is nice so I took over these three rooms.”

  “Hey, that was my chest room.” In less than twelve hours the man is already making me regret giving him the password he needed to enter my castle whenever he wants.

  “We’ll expand.”

  Something about those words causes my heart to flutter. It’s a silly virtual game, but I like the idea of Grant sticking around to play on my server for a while.

  His character stops moving on the screen and I check to see what he’s doing only to find Grant staring at me. His face lowers and rather than back away I push mine closer until our lips touch. I deepen the kiss, but Grant pulls back.

  “Clare, what are we doing?” he asks.

  “I have no idea.”

  He closes the lid of his computer and sticks it on his nightstand. “We’re definitely not having sex so get those thoughts out of your head. You’re sick and need to focus on getting better.”

  “Of course we’re not doing that. What do you mean get those thoughts out of my head?” I lean back and check out Grant’s face for signs he’s been abducted or gone crazy while I was sleeping. Zombie bite marks on his neck or something.

  He laughs. “You mean it was only me?”

  I push him on the shoulder and laugh. “Yes.”

  He sighs and leans back against the pillow somehow taking me too. “I walked around for a year giving the guys advice like I had everything figured out, but you women are crazy. There is no hope for any of us. Everything I try with you seems to be the wrong approach. I need you to throw me a life raft because I’m drowning over here.”

  “You’re not drowning.”

  “Oh, but I am. I have no idea how to make this better.”

  I roll into Grant’s shoulder wrapping an arm around his chest. “I’m still working out how to make it fit in my head. I’m the one who’s a mess.”

  Grant tightens his arm. “But you’re thinking on it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s good enough for now. Make sure and let me know what you decide.”

  I nod my head once in agreement before snuggling in close and closing my eyes. I’m pretty sure I’ve already decided, but when I give Grant an answer, I want to make sure I’m 110 percent behind my decision.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  A loud slurping sound announces my delicious pouch of juice packed in today’s lunch is finished. I give it another two good sucks decompressing the bag entirely to ensure I get every last drop. When I’m satisfied I toss the metallic pouch on top of the empty Lunchable container. The last two days were relegated to nothing but my recuperation. For the most part I’m better, a few small sniffles here or there, but the overwhelming desire to lie down and die has passed.

  My return to work was approved by both Grant and Drew because they are still under the delusion they get to boss me around. It’s cute… until I decide it isn’t and then both boys are in for a rude awakening.

  John peeks his head around the door to my office. “Hey, Clare, good to have you back. You have a visitor out front.”

  “Thanks for filling in for me,” I toss my trash in the basket next my desk. “Do you mind sending him back?” I’m not sure why Grant wouldn’t just come in.

  “No problem.” He knocks on the edge of my doorway with a knuckle and disappears.

  John was a huge help around here filling in for me while I was out, but he doesn’t know how to finish paperwork. So I’m two days behind. I busy myself answering one of the hundred and fifty-seven e-mails I received — I learned early on with this job people who work for the city like to send e-mails. It makes them look busy.

  “Thanks for agreeing to see me. I wasn’t sure if
you would.”

  My head snaps up when the person begins talking. It’s definitely not Grant, but he is right I wouldn’t have let him in my office had I known. None other than William Cunningham stands hesitantly in my office entryway.

  At first glance his appearance displays confidence. A San Francisco businessman stopping in for a quick chat. But when I look closer, I notice small things that slip through the cracks. His suit jacket is left hanging open revealing one side of his crumpled light blue dress shirt. His hair is messy, but William is too old and too highbrow to try and pull off the messy frat boy look.

  My first reaction is to kick him out with a bunch of swear words and maybe yelling, but after taking in his clothing and the way he clenches his hands together, I hesitate.

  He uses my small lapse in judgment to his advantage. “Can I sit?”

  “Sure. I guess.” I wasn’t raised with money, but I was taught not to be rude.

  He walks to the chair in front of my desk, his eyes never leaving my face. If I’m not mistaken his hands tremble a small fraction as he grabs the back of the chair and pulls it out. As if I’m the person to be feared in this room.

  “I thought about sending an e-mail, but this is a conversation we should have in person.”

  I stop breathing. Really, seriously I stop breathing. My heart beats but there’s no oxygen going into my lungs. My body rages between horrified he’s decided to have this conversation here, now, in my office and anger it’s taken so long. There’s even a little worry or maybe excitement to get this done. Nothing in my life will change, but it’s the first time someone from the Cunningham family will have even acknowledged I exist.

  “Well…” he stumbles over more of the words betraying the in-control businessman look he walked in portraying. “I wanted to talk to you about Grant.”

  “Grant?”

  Grant sent him? I can’t believe after everything we’ve been through and the feelings I’ve shared with Grant he would have my sperm donor come here. Does he not care how it would hurt me?

  “Yes, you have a lot of influence over him,” he continues unaware I’m processing his last comment.

  “Wait, what? Why did Grant send you?”

  If Grant is still under the delusion we’ll have a happy father-daughter relationship, he is in for a surprise.

  “Oh no.” He sticks his hands up in the air to stop me and gets visibly nervous again. “Grant did not send me and if possible I prefer he never hears about us having this conversation. He can’t know. It would make everything worse.”

  This conversation started out confusing and my confusion has only increased as it continues. If Grant didn’t send him, why the hell is he here? I highly doubt after twenty-four years of child abandonment he decided to be a concerned parent today.

  “Cut to the chase, William.” Being in the same room with him makes me uncomfortable. He needs to say his piece and then he needs to get out.

  “Grant’s team of lawyers found a loophole to our contract and he’s planning to kick me out of the new Del Fray deal. It could cost my family millions.”

  I’m speechless for a few seconds. Grant is kicking him out of the Del Fray purchase? He hasn’t mentioned it. Not that he mentions much to me involving the plant or his work in general.

  “Clare, this is how I feed my family. I have two kids to put through school.”

  The small smile completely disappears when his words turn to begging. There’s a sudden urge to gag as I lose any sympathy he may have mustered out of me.

  “Did you say that?” The old-school style clock hanging on the concrete wall clicks as another minute passes.

  “You must understand I have certain obligations to my family.”

  “And what does that make me?” In for a penny in for a pound they say.

  The room is soundless except for the gym doors opening and closing as people return from their lunch breaks.

  “Do you know who I am?” Is it possible he’s forgotten about me so much he doesn’t realize the Clare Cunningham sitting across the desk from him is his daughter?

  “Of course.” The words come out in a half-sneer like he can’t believe I’d question such a thing. “I knew that night. I wasn’t sure if you knew.”

  My anger increases with every single word to come out of his stupid, rich person mouth to the point I’m now seething. If possible my blood would actually boil. “I’ve always known about my rich father who couldn’t be bothered to make sure I had shoes or food.”

  His face falls into what I would call sadness, but I have no sympathy for him. “That’s not fair. Your mom said she wanted to do it alone.”

  “Yes, and you listened to her.” My mouth hangs open as I finish the last word in complete disbelief. This is the first real conversation I’ve had with the man and all he’s doing is proving I was better off without him in my life.

  “When your mother went to jail, your caseworker Mrs. Jamieson offered to set up a meeting. But you’d been placed in a foster home and there was no way you could live with me. I didn’t see the point.”

  “You didn’t see the point?” I heard him absolutely fine, but my brain can’t process the meaning behind those words.

  He didn’t see the point in meeting his daughter.

  “It would’ve been terribly hard on me.” He keeps talking like he feels the need to fill the space, but it’s making it worse.

  I stare at him without speaking because I don’t know what else to do. The father who left me as a baby didn’t meet me at a time in my life when I needed him most because it would have been terribly hard on him. Should I apologize?

  We both sit, breathing in the silence.

  The realization hits me like a baseball to the face. I visibly jerk back in my chair as the situation becomes clear. At the moment it doesn’t matter what else William says to me. I waited all these years for my chance to have this conversation with him, but it doesn’t matter.

  My chair rolls back hitting the wall as I stand up and try my hardest not to smile. “Well, thanks for stopping in to see me. I hope you have a good afternoon.” There isn’t a nicer way to tell him get the fuck out of my office.

  He stands as well, his face between a smile and frown obviously puzzled at the change of direction. “You will talk to Grant, right?”

  I nod my head reassuringly. “Of course, I’ll definitely be talking with Grant.”

  The promise takes away his worries and his face grows into a smile. The man reaches across my desk and tries to shake my hand, but thankfully when I don’t reciprocate he’s quick to put it to his side. Once his backside clears the doorway, I slump down in my desk chair feeling thirty pounds lighter after the experience.

  It’s like a light has turned on after living in darkness for so many years. William isn’t a horrible person because he has money. He’s a horrible person because he is a horrible person. For years growing up I always blamed everyone else for him not being a father. His mother, my mother, but like a small child who needs her father I always made excuses for him. I’d maintained a belief there was an unnamed dragon standing between us who wouldn’t allow my father to rescue his little girl. But that isn’t it at all.

  My father’s an asshole.

  And that’s okay. Lots of people have asshole fathers. Hell, half the people in the center are going home to two uncaring assholeish parents.

  As I sit in my chair mesmerized at the growth I’ve made today, another thought comes to me. Next month when I visit my mother I can honestly tell her I talked to my father. I throw my head back and laugh at the idea. And when she asks how the conversation went, I’ll tell her truthfully it went well. Because having him here in my office where I didn’t throw anything at him is a great conversation in my book.

  Years and years of anger and mistrust melt away until I’m a completely new person. I’m one of those happy people. The annoying kind who see the positive in everything… that’s me now.

  Well at least for a few minutes. I’m
sure sooner or later someone will piss me off and I’ll go back to jaded Clare. I do have an asshole for a father and a delusional mother in jail. But for now I’m content… and happy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Each of the old steps on our front porch creak as I land on them in my hurried attempt into the house. I skip a few, using the wooden handrail to pull myself higher.

  I spent the few short blocks of my walk in complete introspection unlike anything I’ve ever done. Even more than the semester I took an Intro to Psychology class, and the professor made us spend an entire unit analyzing our childhood. I had quite a few issues to work through, if you hadn’t guessed.

  But today is different.

  Today all of that self-help mumbo-jumbo worked. I’ve spent the last twenty-four years promising myself it didn’t matter or bother me that my father didn’t want me. But that was all a lie because this afternoon I do feel great.

  Splendid.

  The best I’ve ever felt my entire life.

  My father is an asshole.

  Like a huge self-centered manipulating, delusional, asshole. There is no other way to describe him.

  And that’s not my fault.

  I wasn’t needy or ugly as a baby. I didn’t have the wrong blood flowing through my veins. It wasn’t me who didn’t live up to his standards. It had nothing to do with me.

  My father is an ass.

  I shrug, stopping at the front door even though no one can see me. I’m not going to waste any more of my precious time worried about it. Today I’ve lost an entire extra person made from self-doubt and anger.

  I’m ready to live.

  After I have a chat with Grant, that is.

  The heavy wooden front door bangs on the wall as I shove it open. A piece of paint flakes off and floats to the ground reminding me I want to ask our landlord if Drew can repaint it before the summer ends.