by Kaye Blue
So I’d taken out the loan, forged my father’s signature to do it. The guilt over the lie was only slightly outweighed by my absolute certainty that I had done the right thing.
And for a while, it seemed that I had.
An illusion it turned out.
Two months ago, my father had taken all of the money in the company’s account and “invested” it in his latest scheme to double his money. If I hadn’t had the foresight to open an account that he didn’t know about, the business would have gone under. As it was, I’d had to move mountains to make payroll and cover the loan payment. It was a miracle that I’d only been three days late.
But that didn’t matter.
Disgusted, I pushed my laptop onto the floor and lay back against the fluffy pillows, wishing I could stay hidden here until this was over.
But that wasn’t an option because it wouldn’t be over, not unless I ended it.
Or Alex did.
The rush of panic at the thought made me sit up. No, I couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let the people who relied on me, couldn’t let my father, couldn’t let myself down.
Not now.
For lack of anything else to do, I picked up my phone and looked at the screen.
No missed calls, which was a surprise. I hadn’t spoken to my father since the day before, and very seldom did that much time pass without him wanting to know where I was or, more importantly, when I would be back to run the business.
I sighed, taking my time scrolling through the phone book. I knew my father’s number by heart, but I still went through the motions of searching for it in my phone book, needing those few extra seconds to center myself and prepare to speak to him.
It shouldn’t be like that.
I could remember a time when it hadn’t been. A time when I had thought my father hung the moon. That seemed like so many years ago, something else I should have come to accept, but I still had a hard time with it. I loved him, but he was difficult, stubborn to a fault, and I knew he didn’t respect me or my contributions to his business, wouldn’t have respected all I had given to him even if he knew about it.
I always told myself that he was just protective, not able to separate me now from the little girl I had once been.
Clung to that as an explanation and hoped it wasn’t something else. I’d never quite mustered the courage to ask my father if he blamed me for my mother leaving, but that feeling had always been there in the back of my mind.
Yet another thing I would have to push off dealing with until later. But for now, I pressed the button to call him.
As the phone rang, the butterflies that always came to my stomach were there again. I knew it shouldn’t be like that, knew that calling my father should be a source of joy, not one of tension and nervousness.
But knowing how it should be didn’t do anything to change the reality of what it was, or soothe that worry about which father would confront me—the one who had never been affectionate but had made his emotion for me shown through his actions, or the other, the one who belittled, sometimes made me feel low, unwelcome and unwanted. I never knew which I would get, so as always, I braced myself.
“Mia?” he asked, his voice a gruff grunt.
“Hey, Daddy,” I said.
“I thought you were on your fancy getaway.”
He had been reluctant to give me the couple days off, but had begrudgingly done it. Still, I could hear his dissatisfaction in his voice, but like always, I ignored it.
“I am. Does that mean I shouldn’t want to hear your voice?” I said.
“Yeah right. Hear my voice. I’ll bet. Have you gotten into trouble?” he asked.
I ground my teeth to swallow back the annoyance and the urge to shoot the same question back at him, yell at him about all the trouble he’d gotten me into.
Instead I sighed, let out the fake giggle that I had perfected over the years. “Of course I’m not in any trouble, Daddy,” I said.
“Yeah, you always were a goody two shoes,” he said.
The way he said it made me think he didn’t necessarily think that was a good thing, but I ignored that, and instead tried to keep the conversation centered on the reason I’d called. Deep down, I knew it was futile, but I couldn’t stifle the wish that he would make me feel better.
“How are things?” I asked.
“How do you think?”
“Well, I’m sure you’re more than capable of handling my position,” I said.
“How nice of you to say so,” he said, though I could hear the humor in his voice.
That was another thing about my father. He could go from bitter to amused, back again, and then back again once more all in the space of a minute. I seized on his apparent amusement because I knew I couldn’t count on it to last but needing whatever hope I could get from him.
I sighed into the phone.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quickly, not having missed my change in mood.
“Nothing…I’m just worried,” I said.
“About what?” he asked, and I could imagine his expression, the way his brows would lift and then turn down with his question.
“About the company. About what would happen if we couldn’t keep it up,” I said.
He laughed, the sound dismissive, making my heart sink a little lower. “You worry too much,” he said.
I swallowed back the retort that he didn’t worry enough, and instead said, “I know, but a lot of people depend on us.”
“They do, and have we ever let them down?”
“No,” I said quietly. But that would probably change. Because of me.
“And we won’t start now. In fact, I have a lead on something big, Mia. I won’t tell you the details, but it could be a game changer. If I just borrow from payroll as an advance, I could double that money,” he said.
I simultaneously wanted to cry, scream, and run away. I’d known better than to call him, especially not if I wanted reassurance, but this…
It was always like this. I’d get us a little ahead, and he’d drag us back. Even if I had the money to pay the loan, my father would have found a way to spend it before I could.
This was up to me. I’d known that, but I’d held out hope. I didn’t anymore.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Daddy,” I said quietly.
“You don’t have to, because I know. Listen, Mia…”
He continued on excitedly, but I tuned him out, my mind whirling with the realization of what I must do. I couldn’t let all I’d done be for nothing, wouldn’t let the years I’d spent be meaningless, wouldn’t let the people I cared about suffer.
“Can we talk about it when I get back?” I asked when my father paused.
“I don’t see what else we need to talk about, but okay,” he said.
I knew how this would turn out. Knew not to put any hope in what he thought would pan out. The urge to tell him as much was strong, but I had no desire to waste my breath.
“Great. Have a good night,” I replied with as much energy as I could muster, which wasn’t much.
“Good night, Mia.”
He hung up the phone and I followed suit, and then lay back against the bed, feeling all but hopeless. Any hope I had had hinged on the flimsy theory that Alex was lying or bluffing. I had never known him to do either, but I’d been looking for anything.
There was nothing.
My mind immediately flashed back to him, to sea-green eyes that were simultaneously so familiar and so foreign, the absolute resolve I had seen in his expression.
This plan of Alex’s had consequences for my father but those were trivial compared to what everyone else would face.
Marshall & Sons wasn’t huge, but it employed a nice chunk of the town’s population, and were it to disappear and take those jobs with it, the ripple effect would be devastating. I hadn’t thought about that when I’d taken that stupid loan. I’d been focused on making it to the next day. But that didn’t matter. Whatever my intentions might
have been, I’d gotten them—us—into this situation.
It was my responsibility to get us out.
I switched off the light and lay in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the city below. My mind drifted back to the week before when I had received the mysterious letter that had started this all.
I could easily picture the cream linen envelope with golden embossing and no return address, feel the weight of it in my hand.
The letter inside had been terse, requesting my presence at the specified time and place. It also included a plane ticket and a confirmed reservation to a luxury hotel, all in my name.
When I’d gotten the envelope, I’d been surprised but not especially uneasy and then had blown it off as a joke.
Still, despite my best intentions, I hadn’t been able to forget it, not completely. I should have thrown it away, but something wouldn’t allow me to. Instead I had kept it, and there it had sat day after day, looking at me, taunting me, until finally I had given in.
I’d been tempted to ask my father about it, but then reconsidered that idea. He’d have nothing positive to say, would probably be upset with me for taking any time away from the business to consider such a flight of fancy.
So I’d kept the letter to myself and done a lot of considering, the mystery of it all both scaring and exciting me.
Chelsea had given me the final push. We’d known each other for what seemed like forever, and while I was weighed down by responsibility and duty, Chelsea was carefree and had always encouraged me to live a little. In fact, she had insisted that if I didn’t take the trip, she would.
All of my counterarguments, questions about my safety, about what would happen to the business had been tossed to the wind.
For a while, I had wondered if she was behind it.
I hadn’t laid eyes on my mother, hadn’t heard her voice in decades. For a while, I’d convinced myself she hadn’t been there at all. It was only the cruel hope that I hadn’t been able to let go of, the child’s wish that if she couldn’t be with me that maybe she remembered me, still loved me, that made her real.
As ridiculous as it was, my first thought had been that this was her way of reaching out to me. But now the mystery had been solved, and now I had to figure out my next move.
So I lay there trying to make heads or tails of this mess and find a way out.
Soon came to the conclusion that there was none.
I hated to admit it, wanted to pretend otherwise as much as I possibly could, but there was no way around it.
I was at Alex’s mercy.
And there was only one thing to do.
Seven
Alex
*
I hadn’t slept the night before, not really.
That wasn’t as rare as it should have been, but the reason for it most assuredly was.
I’d spent more than my fair share of nights staying up thinking about Mia, about what could’ve been, but it wasn’t those thoughts that kept me up the night before.
No, I went back and forth between thinking about how potent and powerful her presence had been, fantasizing about what it would be like to finally have her.
Hating myself a little bit for both.
I knew I was doing the right thing, or at the very least doing the only thing I could. Seeing her had activated something in me, and I had come too far down this road for that to change. Not for the first time, I wondered if maybe it had opened a Pandora’s box that I wasn’t prepared for.
If—when—I decided to go through with this, I’d have to keep my wits about me, keep my mind focused on what mattered, and that was getting Mia out of my system. Because as much as I had the upper hand, she had it as well.
She might not know it, and I would do my best to make sure she never did, but the depth with which I wanted her left me in a vulnerable position, something I couldn’t abide.
I told myself to stay strong, to not give in to those emotions and instead keep it all about the physical, do what it was I had intended to do.
The night before I’d been stuck, thinking about Mia, wanting her, fearing the power she still had over me.
But even after the rough evening, I made it to the office the same time I always did. Business couldn’t stop just because I was doing something foolhardy.
I’d have to think about my next steps with Mia, make sure she understood the gravity of this situation. But I knew without a doubt that I would have her. I had a few calls this morning, and once I was done with those, I’d put my mind to the task of figuring out my next steps with Mia.
The elevator doors opened and Randi, my very beautiful secretary who was skilled at her job and hadn’t tried to fuck me, greeted me as I came through the doors.
“Sir,” she said, standing when I approached her desk.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Your visitor from yesterday, Ms. Marshall, is here.”
I looked at the woman, frowned as I considered what to do. I’d told Mia if she walked out, she couldn’t come back in. But I also couldn’t ignore what it meant that she’d come back with no further prodding from me.
“Where is she?” I finally asked.
“I put her in the waiting area. She was quite insistent that she see you first thing. I told her that she needed to make an appointment, but she wouldn’t leave,” she said.
Randi was cool but I could see a little edge in her expression. She probably expected me to be angry because she hadn’t kept my protocol that if someone wasn’t on my schedule, they didn’t exist to me.
“Don’t worry. You did exactly as you should have. Have Ms. Marshall wait for an hour and then bring her back.”
“Yes, sir,” Randi said.
She pivoted and went back to the receptionist’s desk.
I was tempted to walk past the waiting area where Mia was, but didn’t and instead took a different route to my office. I wanted to see her, but I didn’t want her to know yet that I knew she was here.
Probably a small thing to do, but I liked the idea of drawing this out. And besides, I needed to figure out what exactly was going on. Part of me wondered if maybe she had come here to tell me to go fuck myself, but I didn’t think that was the case. She was too invested in that company to let it go without a fight, and I had no doubt that she knew I wasn’t bluffing.
As I entered my office and closed the door, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking that maybe it meant something, that maybe her coming back meant she wanted to put the fire between us out as much as I did.
I highly doubted it.
I couldn’t imagine there was anything that anyone wanted more than I wanted Mia.
I’d seen her desire for me, but didn’t think it was her style to act on it, at least not under these circumstances.
Which left me, as I often infuriatingly was with Mia, in the dark.
But I’d have my answer soon enough.
I went to my desk, tried to concentrate on work, but instead watched the clock as the minutes ticked by slowly.
I could have ended the torture at any time, had Randi bring Mia back, but pride, fear, wouldn’t let me.
But finally the hour had passed, and I knew Randi well enough to know that she would bring Mia to me exactly at the time I requested.
At 10:01 there was a knock at my door and I waited, anticipating Mia walking through those doors.
Wondered if she would be wearing the same suit again, or maybe she’d be dressed like I remembered her, baggy T-shirts, jeans, not at all caring.
Told myself what she was wearing didn’t matter. That what mattered was what she said and did, but even as I thought it, I knew it wasn’t the truth, or at least not all of it. Because seeing Mia in her jeans, remembering her as she had been before might weaken my resolve or at the very least throw me off course, and I didn’t want to risk that.
When the door finally opened and Mia walked in, I took her in and quickly noted that she was wearing black slacks and a nice button-down shirt that lovingl
y caressed her breasts. Not quite what I would have imagined, but it seemed more like her than the stuffy suit did.
And yet again I reminded myself that what she was wearing didn’t matter.
“Back so soon, Mia?” I asked once Randi had left.
She stalked toward me, her steps giving away her anger.
“Not because I want to be,” she said forcefully.
“Then you’re free to leave,” I responded, though I wanted anything but that.
“Right,” she said, her voice coming out stiffly, her anger apparent. “I’m free to go, which leaves you free to do whatever you have in mind.”
“Yes. I told you the terms. I didn’t try to hide them from you.”
“Alex…” she said, her voice low, almost trembling.
I ignored the way the sound made me feel and instead kept my attention on her, keeping my face completely unmoving.
She stared at me, seemed to be studying me, trying to see something, perhaps understand something that seemed to be eluding her.
“I really don’t get this,” she finally said on a deep sigh.
“What don’t you get?” I asked.
“This. Any of it. Why?”
There was a pleading, a hurt in her voice that reached out to me, but I pushed that feeling down and instead shrugged, striving for nonchalance, which I seemed to have achieved if the annoyed expression on her face was anything to go by.
“I don’t know why I’m wasting my breath,” she said.
“Didn’t your father tell you that years ago? That you were wasting your breath, your time, with me?” I asked.
“And I was too stupid to listen to him,” she responded, her eyes narrowed into angry little slits.
Her words had the effect of a kick in the gut, and I paused for a moment, the sting I hadn’t expected freezing me in the spot.
I recovered quickly enough, impressed that I managed to keep my expression from moving.
“Perhaps you should have. And you did eventually, didn’t you? But here we find ourselves. So you agree to my terms?” I asked.
I was refocusing us on the issue at hand, and that wasn’t her father. It was her and me.
