“Hey… Cam,” he slurs. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d check out your new digs.”
I stand, spreading my arms to showcase the open-floor plan of our offices. “Here it is. Let’s walk downstairs to Starbucks and pick you up a strong cup of black coffee.”
My dad is an alcoholic. Years of alcohol abuse has left his cheeks rosy and his mind dull-witted. He knows drying out would be a painful process, and he’s never had the intention of going through it. He’s determined to stay drunk until he dies.
“Sure. Great. I have some things to tell you.”
I lead him to the elevator. After we step in and the doors shut, I turn to him. “Why are you here? Do you need money?”
“No! I had an appointment in the city, and I thought I would stop by. I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Where’s Jean?” Jean is my dad’s girlfriend and fellow drunk buddy. They’ve been together for close to a decade, though I don’t understand why she stays with him beyond that he’s someone to drink with.
“She left me last year.”
I’m taken aback by this. He never told me. Not that I’d care, of course. “No real surprise.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m loopy from a few tests they gave me this morning is all.” He does seem more lucid than he is when he’s drunk. Maybe he’s actually telling me the truth.
We get our coffees and sit. Staring deep into his drink, he starts. “Listen, Cam….” Ah, here it is. “I have to return for a follow-up appointment tomorrow by seven. Can I crash at your place tonight? I won’t get in the way. I can sleep on the couch or even the floor if you don’t have any room for me.”
I don’t want him to stay, but he seems rather pathetic, and I’m not completely heartless. “Yeah. Sure. I have a guest room you can stay in.”
I don’t think I’ve seen my dad in almost five years. When I was growing up, so much damage was done when he was drunk and would yell at me. Every mean thing he'd thought but knew better than to say when he was sober came flooding out. When he saw the hurt in his opponent's eyes, he never backed off, only dug deeper, like a hunter at the first sign of blood. So when I got a full-ride scholarship to Stanford at eighteen, I never went home unless I absolutely had to.
The conversation stalls. We seem more like strangers than we do father and son. Finally, he looks up and asks, “You got a cute girl?”
That’s rich coming from him. He was no role model when it came to women. I can’t remember when he didn’t have a beer in his hands. He was in the car the night my mom died. She was sober and driving him home when they were hit by a drunk driver. She was killed on impact. He lived, and I’ve wished every day that he was the one who’d died and not my mom. It’s all his fault. He may not have been driving, but had he been sober, he could’ve driven himself home. I was twelve, and we became strangers living under the same roof.
“You know me. I’m not very good with girls.”
“You were always a chick magnet in school. Just like your old man.”
“Well, once they realize how fucked up I am, they move on.”
He picks at the seam of his paper cup. “That’s probably my fault.”
“You won’t get any arguments from me.” There’s obvious pain in his eyes at my jab, but frankly I don’t care.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my house key and slide it across the table. “Here’s my key. The alarm code is mom’s birthday.” I write my home address and my mom’s birthday on the back of my business card and hand it to him. “The guest room is the first room on the right.”
“Thanks, Cam.” Looking it over, he asks, “What time will you be home?”
I’m tired, and I wanted to go home early, but now I’m reconsidering. There’re days that the exhaustion is both physical and mental. My body needs to rest, yet my mind needs it to move, to burn the anxiety right out. I may still leave early, but maybe I’ll hit the gym. I work out to take the edge off and have control. I once thought my old man weak for depending on alcohol like he does, and I’m determined to keep control of my intake. I won't be the same way. “It’ll be late.”
He nods and says, “Well, thanks for allowing me to stay.”
As we walk out, he heads toward the bus stop. I ask, “You want money for a cab?”
With a deep pull on a cigarette, he shakes his head. “Nah. I don’t have much to do when I get there, so it’s okay if it takes a while to get to your place.”
I tell him what buses to take and hand him a twenty-dollar bill. “I’m not sure if there’s much in the fridge, so you may want to grab something on the way. There’s a decent burger place right at the bus stop by my house.”
He stares at the bill cautiously before he takes it. “Sure. Thanks.”
I head to my office deep in thought about my childhood before and after my mom died. It was like she took all the sunlight with her when she was killed. His visit has ruined my afternoon.
Emerson stops me in the kitchen as I’m scrounging for a late lunch. “I hear your dad’s in town. Are we all going to get to meet him?”
“Probably not. He’s just here for some meetings.”
Dillon was my college roommate, and he only met my dad once at graduation. I don’t talk about my family at all, and I prefer to keep it that way, but I have a feeling I won’t get away with that right now.
“Oh, that’s cool. You never talk about him. What does he do?”
There’s no value in lying or glorifying him in any way. “He’s a sheet metal worker when he’s sober.”
She looks shocked. “Ahh. Well, we’d love to meet him if you’re up for that.”
“Thanks, but I think he’s heading home tomorrow.” I’ve found an apple, cashews, a yogurt, and some peanut butter crackers. I grab a Diet Coke and head to my office. Not the best lunch, but it’s filling enough to hold me over.
Sitting behind my desk once again, my mind drifts to my dad. Something’s off, but I’m not sure I actually care.
Hadlee
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Determination drives me on. I’m still reeling from Lilly’s sad news. It reminds me that life isn’t fair. No child should ever get cancer, pure and simple.
I wipe my face clean as if a screen had been pulled down to hide my emotions and hurry along, ready for a glass of wine and relaxation. It’s beginning to get dark, the coming night teasing the sky into twilight. Fear sits heavy on my heart as I walk as fast as I can. I saw her sister today, and her mother is an understandable wreck. Eyes plastered to the floor, she didn’t say much, just stared at her shoes. I know she’s trying to be strong for her other kids, and it breaks my heart.
It’s a crap day. I could use a drink, but I don’t want to go out with the girls. I’m hoping Cameron will help me take my mind off it all. My ass is nicely tender and each time I sit, I’m reminded of him and his beautiful cock and what it does to me. It’s a good thing I don’t have to sit too often at work.
I open the door to my apartment, and though it’s later than I had wanted to be home, the bottle of shiraz is calling my name. I change into a black pair of yoga pants and a UCSF Medical School sweatshirt. Walking into the kitchen to grab my wine, I see a man sitting outside on the patio. There isn’t any way to get to the patio without going through my place or Cameron’s, so I figure he must know Cameron.
With the bottle and two glasses, I slide open the door. “Hi. I’m Hadlee.”
He stands. “Hi, I’m Michael, Cameron’s father.”
I can see the resemblance. They’re both similar in height at over six feet tall. Michael’s hair is mostly gray, but when he smiles, I can see the shared physical characteristics. “So nice to meet you. I have a bottle of wine. Would you like a glass?”
He holds up a glass with a clear liquid and explains, “I already have a glass, but thank you.”
I can’t help but be disappointed that Cameron has company. I don’t want to interrupt, so I ask tentatively, “Do you mind if I join you?”
I notice his eyes are glazed and have a slight hue of yellow, and he’s dressed in clean but well-worn clothes. He tilts his head to the side. “You live with Cameron?”
“Oh, no. I’m his tenant and… friend.” After an awkward pause, I share, “My house was destroyed by a fire a few months ago, and Cameron was between tenants, so he’s renting it to me.”
He stumbles as he attempts to get up to leave. “Sorry, that must mean this is your backyard. I’ll get out of your way.”
I reach for his arm and softly say, “No. Please stay. Cameron and I have been friends for a while, but we’re part of a larger group. Tell me about him.”
He sits and a broad smile crosses his face. He’s nostalgic. “He was always so smart.”
I nod. “I believe that.”
“You two aren’t dating?”
Well, technically we aren’t dating, we’re only fucking. “No, we’re not dating. What brings you to San Francisco?”
“I have an appointment in the morning.”
I can tell he’s sick. My medical school training tells me the yellow tone of his skin means it’s most likely cirrhosis of the liver or possibly liver cancer. If I had to guess, it’s a terminal diagnosis unless he can get on the transplant list. “Good luck with your appointment.”
We sit in silence, listening to the city as the white noise of the traffic permeates the air.
Out of nowhere, Michael shares, “I was a bad parent, though I never meant to be.” Nodding, he rambles, “I wonder if it's what happens when you take a love that strong and mix it with fear and alcohol. Like every decision ever made, they’re based on a combination of what I was sure was true and my love for Cam’s mother—a core motivation, I guess. She was my whole world. After she died, alcohol and love came together to make a pushiness to drive my son forward, while at the same time addressing the fear that I didn’t want him to be like me—in a crap job barely able to make ends meet.”
“We all do the best we can,” I sympathize.
Sitting quietly for a moment, he mumbles, “My love was never conditional or with an expiration date with him, but in my failure to just tell him that I loved him, I failed him in the worst possible way. All my son ever needed to know was that I'd love him no matter what he chose to do with his life, and that he was free to make his own choices.”
I pat his hand in hopes of reassuring him. It’s very normal to rethink your mistakes when faced with a terminal illness. I don’t understand their history, and beyond encouraging him to tell Cameron all of this, there isn’t much I can do.
It’s just after 11:30 p.m. when Cameron comes home, opening his back door and peering down at us. “I see you two met. Sorry I didn’t call you to tell you he’d be here.”
We don’t have that kind of relationship where we check in with each other, so I’m not upset that he didn’t call, but he doesn’t seem too thrilled that his dad’s here and talking to me. I want to make light of the situation and assure him that I’m okay with whatever this is and whatever we are. “Yes. Your dad was telling me about his life in the Marine Corps. Very exciting. Did you know he was a ‘Hollywood Marine’?”
“Yep. He went through training in San Diego as compared to South Carolina.” Michael slowly stands and says, “Semper fi. Well, I’ll leave you both to catch up. I have an early morning.”
“Do you need a ride?” I ask. “I have rounds to do at the hospital tomorrow morning and can drop you if you’re headed in that direction.”
The conflict is evident in his eyes and body language, but I don’t want to push. “No. I can get a ride in the morning.”
He walks upstairs, leaving Cameron and me sitting on the patio listening to the quiet. “Would you like a glass of shiraz?” I offer.
“No, thanks. I’m pretty tired.” He winks at me. “There’s this fiery redhead who's been keeping me up recently.”
My need for him grows as I stare at my empty wineglass. “I could use company tonight, but I have a feeling you have some things to manage upstairs in your place.”
“He always wants something from me.”
“I don’t want to get into the middle, but….”
“Good, then don’t.” His eyes are set, his voice firm.
His response is curt and a bit hurtful. I’m sure he’s struggling with his dad's illness though, so I won’t hold it against him. “Cameron, he’s spent the last two hours telling me how proud he is of you.”
“Don’t insert yourself in this, Hadlee,” he warns as he gets up from the table and storms upstairs.
I understand that it isn’t my place to tell Cameron how bad his dad’s diagnosis may be, but I hope they can work this out. I want to take him by the hand and lead him away. I want to walk with him, talk with him, but he has a solid wall that he isn’t interested in my breaking it down.
Even if we don’t remain lovers, he’s still my friend, a kindred spirit. I just want to tell him that I’m here for him.
Cameron
CHAPTER TWENTY
The tension is high with Hadlee after my unreasonable outburst over my dad. He just fucks everything up. This morning he called and asked to stay a few days, and I’m allowing him. I don’t want to, but something’s up, and he doesn’t seem to want to tell me. I’m angry with him and have been for a very long time. I know I should extend an olive branch instead of hostility, but sometimes it isn't easy with my dad, and now he’s put Hadlee in the middle of our mess.
I’d like things to go back to how things were before he arrived. Peaceful.
I’m lost in my thoughts when my cell phone pings.
Mason: Please join me at my place at 7 tonight. Big news.
Dillon sticks his head in my office. “Do you have any idea what the ‘Big News’ is?”
“No idea, but if he’s telling us he’s proposing to Annabel, I’m voting we remove his partnership.”
“I think it’s something else. Did you drive today?”
“No. I took a Lyft into the office,” I tell him.
“Emerson and Greer will meet us at Mason’s, and Sara and Cynthia will ride over with us. Meet by the elevators at six thirty?”
“Okay. See you then.”
I spend what’s left of the afternoon concentrating on my work. Or at least trying. Something always brings me back to Hadlee and a pink handprint on her perfect ivory derrière. The thought of her bound with nipple clamps makes my dick hard.
As we all pile into Dillon’s SUV, the girls sit in the back, and I sit with Dillon in the front. We spend the short drive to the top of Nob Hill discussing all the reasons Mason could be summoning us. We all agree that if he’s proposing to Annabel, we’ll bring in Charles and the lawyers. Other than that, no one has any clue as to why he’s called the meeting.
Dillon finds a parking space a few blocks from Mason’s and we walk over. As we arrive, Charles and Trey are being dropped by a car service ahead of us, and Emerson, CeCe, and Greer pull in behind us. It seems like the gang’s all here.
CeCe leans in and says, “If Mason has proposed to Annabel, I’m leaving.”
Emerson places her hand on CeCe’s shoulder. “Cameron agrees. Don’t you worry.”
Again I’m reminded of how Mason missed the boat with CeCe. She would be a great match for him. What a mess. We’re buzzed in and walk back to Mason’s place, where we’re greeted by his dog Misty.
Mason walks up behind Misty, patting her head. “Hey, guys. Thanks for coming at the last minute. There are beers and wine out in the courtyard.”
Annabel is nowhere to be seen. That’s a good sign. However, I’m surprised when I spot our private investigator, Jim.
Mason has set up his patio with enough chairs so we all can sit while we wait to find out why we’ve been summoned. I take a beer and watch. Everyone seems anxious to hear what they’ve learned.
Once everyone is settled, Jim begins. “Well, Quinn at Perkins Klein has shared some things going on within the company.” Quinn is a longtime friend of S
HN and ex-girlfriend of Mason. We reached out to her to find out what she knew about how they were getting our information. We weren’t looking for who they were bidding on, but rather for information that would protect our assets and use it as a countermeasure to discover who’s feeding Perkins Klein all our confidential information.
We all stare at him expectantly, and he continues. “Financially, they’re struggling. They’re firing a few highly paid members of their various teams rather than doing layoffs. They’re being blamed for the bad investments.”
“Well, that’s no surprise,” Mason says, and we all agree.
“Now here’s the interesting part,” Jim states. “Quinn is pretty tight with Bob Perkins and Terry Klein, and in the mess of Terry going into the hospital, it was shared that she didn’t think they would be getting the insider information for much longer. It sounded to Quinn like they didn’t know who was behind the leak on our team.”
“What does that mean? Is someone leaving piles of our information on their doorstep?” I ask.
“Well, I think they’re getting the information by e-mail, but they’re blind e-mail accounts.”
“If it isn’t Perkins Klein behind this breach, why would anyone go to this length to sabotage us?”
With a whistle, Dillon says, “Fuck. This could mean starting all over.”
“Exactly,” Jim agrees.
Mason sits forward in his chair. “Wait. Someone else may be behind this?”
“That’s what we’re beginning to think.”
“What would you advise for our next steps?” Sara asks.
Looking around the group, Jim says, “This is extremely personal. Someone is going after you where it hurts. Any thoughts from you? Maybe someone you didn’t invest in and they’re blaming you?”
“We get thousands of asks a year,” Dillon replies. “That would be tough to track, but I can get you a comprehensive list. How far back do you want to go?”
“As far back as you can give us.”
Dillon nods and gets on his phone, tapping rapidly.
Desire (Venture Capitalist Book 3) Page 11
