“Any messages?” Portia asked.
“Um. No.” Melanie flicked her gaze up to Portia’s briefly. Then she added, “But Mr. Tremaine is waiting in your office.”
Portia blinked as she tried to process that. She stared at Melanie, a deep anger building inside. “He’s waiting inmyoffice,” she repeated, frost edging her words.
“Well, yeah. He didn’t have an appointment and I tried to stop him. Then he said he was your father and you wouldn’t mind.” Melanie shrugged and Portia’s blood boiled.
Forcing herself to breathe—because the other option would be much messier—Portia asked, “When have I ever allowed someone to wait in my office?”
“Um, never?”
Portia glared at her. “Exactly.”
“But he’s your father,” Melanie whined. “What was I supposed to do?”
Portia leaned close and made sure their eyes met. “I don’t care if it’s my dead husband come back to life, don’t ever let someone into my office without my permission again.”
Eyes wide, Melanie nodded.
Satisfied that the other woman looked sufficiently intimidated, Portia straightened and stepped back. Invoking Tommy like that made her feel queasy. He, on the other hand, would have thought it was hilarious.
“How long has he been in there?”
“Twenty minutes?”
Portia gritted her teeth when Melanie phrased it as a question. As soon as she had time, she was finding a new assistant.
When Melanie reached for the button that opened Portia’s office door remotely, Portia stopped her with a look. “Don’t,” she ground out. She wanted her father to have as little warning as possible, to have the best chance of catching him doing something stupid.
Keeping her steps light, she approached her office door with a gut-churning mix of rage, fear, and dread. She took a deep breath, pushed the door open and strode through.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t in time to see her father in a panicked attempt to back away from her computer or struggling to close a desk drawer. Instead, he stood at the windows, staring down at the city.
Oh well, it had been a long shot. Phillip Tremaine had held power for years and, given all the secrets that had come out, he’d known how to not get caught.
Tamping down nerves and the unwelcome feeling that she was stepping into the past, into her father’s office, Portia let the doors close behind her and entered the room with confidence. She had to take control of their encounter from the beginning.
“Good morning, Father. I heard you were waiting for me.” She made a show of removing her jacket and hanging it up.
Angled just enough to watch her father from the corner of her eye, she studied her computer. It was awake, so he’d probably tried to access it. No matter. Ash had locked it down so it would only work for her.
She took her seat and logged on, for all intents and purposes ignoring her father, though she could watch his reflection in the other windows.
Of course, he probably knew that trick as well.
“Good morning.” Hands in his pockets, trying so hard to look casual, he circled the room until he stood in front of her. Was he pretending to be relaxed or pretending to be frail?
It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t be taken in by his games and manipulations. “What can I do for you?”
He took the seat she hadn’t offered. “We need to continue our discussion from last night.”
Portia tilted her head and studied him for a long moment. “No.”
His sharp inhale was music to her ears. She’d never told him no before. Always expected to say “Yes, Father,” she found her newfound freedom intoxicating.
“How dare you?” he countered and she barely managed to not roll her eyes.
“Oh, I know this game. The next line is ‘Do you know who I am?’” She spoke in a mocking tone, not intending to mimic him accurately.
