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 hellishe 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.
