“It’s six thirty,” I grumble from my pillow when I glance at the clock on my nightstand. The cocoon of flannel sheets and a thick comforter come with an implied Do Not Disturb sign.
It’s not Antonio. He slept at his house last night to be ready for a five-a.m. session with D. Working out that early is demonic, and I won’t argue the point.
Fridays are the one day of the workweek when I get to take it easy. I wake up at eight, read in bed, and get to the community center by ten thirty. It’s perfect—except for today and the person fingering my doorbell with no couth.
I check my phone for messages, toss on a terry cloth robe, and stomp down my steps. If we’re skipping the pleasantries of a courtesy call, whoever is on the other side of my door will get a front-row seat to my bonnet and eye boogies.
Did a neighbor get locked out of their house? Did a child miss the bus?
“Dad?” I gape at my father, who’s standing in a suit and coat on the “An Awesome Engineer Lives Here” mat. One guess who found it online and shipped it to my house. “What are you doing in Buffalo?”
“The better question is why didn’t you reach out sooner? I didn’t call because I assumed your phone stopped working.” He eyes me flatly, kisses my cheek, and walks inside.
I shut the door. “I’m handling it.”
“How? By recording a conversation you hope will change hearts and minds?” He folds his arms across his black coat, hisseawater and lavender cologne clinging to the tie I bought him two Christmases ago. “Why didn’t you come to me?”
Why do I need to when Marcela blabs my business?
He motions for me to sit on the sofa. I cross my legs and sigh. “Because it’s my problem. I don’t need another lecture about how I chose the wrong job, or why my title is beneath me. I’m doing good work that will make a difference. I don’t want your disappointment, but I don’t need your approval.”
My father runs a hand over his low taper fade. His Rolex peeks out from the cuff of the suit that’s tailored to his six-three frame. He anchors his elbows to his knees and strokes his chin as he softly regards me with the dark brown eyes we share.
“You’ve always done what you wanted, since you were a kid,” he says with a sad smile that lifts his chocolate dimples. He lets out a short laugh. “You never needed my approval, Lady Bug. If anything, I was searching for yours, to prove my usefulness. I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you. I only wanted the best.”
Not tears in a bonnet before seven a.m.!
He slides forward to hug me, and I melt into the protection of the first man I ever loved.
“You’re never too old for me to defend you,” he whispers with a kiss to my temple. “You have a family who loves you, even if we’re overbearing at times.”
I laugh and wipe away a tear.
“Don’t put yourself in danger, Miri. Anything could’ve happened last night with you going over there by yourself.”
“I know. I needed Kieran to admit what he did on tape.”
My father sits back. “Why?”
“Because New York is a one-party consent state. Recording a conversation is legal as long as one of the parties consents to the recording. I planned to use it to get Maple King to reconsider stealing my patent idea.”
“Lady Bug, your recording alone isn’t enough. Maple King will explain away whatever press you garner.” My father pats my leg and stands. “The best way to deal with them is to hit them where it hurts the most: fuck with their money.”
My brows dip.
“Did you forget where your father works?” He smiles at my pinched stare. “Maple King relies on government contracts. One call to a friend in Toronto this morning terminated their latest one.”
“Dad.”
“I didn’t build up years of relationships and a network of influence to sit back while some prick takes advantage of my baby girl. You’ve always stood tall on your own, Miri, but anyone who messes with this family will be handled accordingly. I’d like to take you to lunch to catch up. You can tell me about your new position and the work you’re doing.”
I smile. “I’d like that.”
“And that rugby player you’re dating.”
Marcela!
“Your mother is expecting your call.”
