“I’m fine, Portia. Really. I didn’t think you’d ever even get close to forgiving me. That there’s even a possibility is a gift. I’m fine. Better than fine, even.” She reached over and squeezed Portia’s hand.
“Oh. Well.” Portia had no idea what to do with that information. In all honesty, she’d never imagined forgiving Dizzie for her involvement in Tommy’s death. Time may not have healed all her wounds—and likely never would—but maybe it had given her the ability to see through her grief.
She lightly squeezed Dizzie’s hand in return and then swiftly disengaged. “Oh look, we’re at your home,” she said brightly.
Dizzie’s half-smile said she saw too much. “Thank you for the ride, Portia. And for meeting them with me.”
“You’re welcome,” Portia said. “I can’t say it was a pleasure, but I’m glad you asked.”
Dizzie laughed again. “They were awful, weren’t they?”
Portia nodded. Yes, she’d been less than impressed with Aleks’s employers. Why did he work for such terrible people?
“Hopefully they got the message and go back to Sweden,” Dizzie said.
Personally—and from what Aleks had shared—she thought that was unlikely. But she was oddly reluctant to burst Dizzie’s bubble. At least right now. “That would be nice,” was all she said.
Dizzie swung the door open and was mostly out of the car before Portia added, “Congratulations to you and Killian, Dizzie. I hope you’re very happy.”
Dizzie’s only response was a smile so full of love and happiness that Portia felt a twinge of jealousy. Then the door closed and she was gone.
Chapter29
Portia reachedher apartment door with a sigh of relief. She’d returned to her office after dropping Dizzie off, but had been too distracted to do much work. She either kept replaying her conversations with Dizzie or obsessively checking her email for news about the Vyne research from Ash or Mendez. Neither activity had left her any brain power for the other business of running the company. Hopefully tomorrow would be more productive.
All afternoon she’d mulled the idea of inviting Killian and Dizzie to dinner. She still didn’t love the idea—she’d never pictured herself socializing with Dizzie. The only place she’d ever pictured Dizzie was a jail cell or a grave.
Had she gotten weak? That was what her father would say. For a lot of years, she’d believed him.
What her father thought didn’t matter anymore.
On that happy thought, she pressed her palm to the door sensor and it unlocked with a quick snick. Closing it securely behind her, she set down her bag and kicked her heels off in the entryway.
As she padded toward the living room, she released her bun. Her hair fell loosely around her shoulders and she breathed a sigh of relief as the pressure on her temples eased. She’d overdone it this morning, but she’d wanted to look as no-nonsense as possible for this meeting. The Solveigs had needed to understand that she was not someone to fuck with. All in all, Portia thought that message had been delivered.
“What did those fucking Swedes want?”
A scream froze in her throat and her heart beat double time. Someone was in her apartment. She stepped backward, intending to flee and call security. Her thumb was hovering over her ring’s panic button when the light flicked on in the living room, illuminating her unexpected visitor.
“Dad?” This couldn’t be happening. “I thought you were dead.Everyonethought you were dead.”
Yet, there he sat. On her couch. In her living room.
“You had a meeting with the Solveigs tonight. Tell me why,” he demanded.
What? That was all he had to say? No way. She had plenty of her own questions. Cautiously stepping into the living room, she turned on every light she could reach and studied him.
Graying blond hair a little longer than he usually wore it. A suit that wasn’t nearly as pressed as his usual standard. Cheekbones that were just slightly more pronounced than when she last saw him. “Where the hell have you been?”
He set the glass he’d been holding onto the coffee table, next to the scotch he’d apparently helped himself to, and stood. “You don’t speak to me that way, daughter. Now sit down and answer my question.”
Portia held her ground and fought the conditioning of her youth. She’d always done everything her father told her to do. The need to win his approval had been overwhelming, but nothing had ever been good enough. These last several months, running the company on her own, had been so freeing.
So, she steeled her spine and overrode the ingrained need to obey. “No.”
Her heart nearly pounded out of her chest as she refused his order. It took everything she had to fake nonchalance and lean against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. “No, I don’t think so. It’s your turn to answer my questions.” Just as with the Solveigs, she layered every ounce of don’t-fuck-with-me she had into her voice.
His brow furrowed and his cheeks flushed. Once again, she had to fight the deep-rooted desire to apologize and do what he said.
