Connorisdangerous to his enemies, but to me, his calm, watchful presence is familiar. Almost soothing.
If anyone could be soothed with Dad in the room, that is.
I snap my spine upright and erase any trace of nerves or annoyance before approaching my father, who’s lounging on the sofa, tie loosened, diamond cufflinks winking in the sun.
With one arm draped over the banquette and a highball glass dangling in his grip, he could pass for the king of his castle. A lit cigar between his fingers pollutes the otherwise pristine room, and I suppress the urge to cringe.
God forbid Dad obey the hotel’s no-smoking policy.
His lips tip into a frown around the cigar as he subjects me to a once-over. “About time you showed up. I was beginning to wonder if you forgot I was here.”
If that were an option, I’d sign up in a heartbeat.
I squeeze my right hand into a fist and then relax my fingers, attempting to emulate Connor’s calm exterior. “All our rooms are non-smoking. You’ll need to pay to get the smell out once you leave.”
Dad raises a brow and smirks a little while inhaling a pointed puff of the cigar. I know better than to believe he’ll actually do as I ask, but I feel better at least calling him out. “There’s a boiler out.”
The hair on the back of my neck rises. “How could you possibly know that?”
“I know everything that happens in my hotel.”
My hotel.
I expend astronomical effort to keep my mouth shut and not snap at him. I should win an award for divine patience.
Despite the anger simmering in my blood, I maintain a level tone and neutral expression. “I’m calling to schedule a repair later.”
“Good.” He waves the cigar at Doyle, and the curling smoke only cranks up my aggravation. “Also, while I’ve got my guest here, I added an extra presence in the halls. Just a few men. You know, for security purposes.”
No shit. “Yes, I’ve noticed.”
“Well, those extra eyes have pointed out a few things you must have missed. The roof leaks in the northwest corner. Several fountain spouts are clogged in the atrium. The landscape suits the slums, not the wharf, and the fucking help doesn’t know their place.”
I clench my hands behind my back. Thehelpdoesn’t know their place? He can rag on my hotel, he can insult me, but to talk about my employees like they’re beneath him or exist to serve him…
“Everything is being taken care of, Dad. I don’t have help, I have employees, and there is noplacefor anyone to know. Everyone does their job well.” Including me, though he’ll admit that when hell freezes over.
“Just get it done, Maeve.” I cringe as cigar ashes drop onto the leather cushion beside him, the embers burning through the material before smoking into nonexistence. Dad doesn’t miss a beat. “And this furniture is in shambles. Replace it.”
I have no idea what my face is doing, but from the sympathetic glance Brody tosses me from behind our father’s back, I imagine my expression isn’t pretty.
That simmering anger bubbles into a boil, forcing me to count to ten to maintain my composure like a kindergartener or someone with anger management issues.
The cuts from my father’s unwanted criticism never completely disappear, but usually, I can busy myself enough to forget.
Except, today I’m struggling. Trapped with him in this suite, choking on his reeking cigar, his words claw at my self-esteem and slash the peace I’ve worked so hard to attain. The hurt and rage swell, gurgling up my throat, ready to spew into his face like venom.
But I don’t say anything.
I can’t.
Declan Gallagher will never acknowledge what I’ve accomplished here. What I’ve created. To him, this hotel is just another front, another hiding place.
And no matter what I do, he’ll never see me as anything other than the beholden daughter whose only value resides in keeping his favorite safe house running. Nothing more than a tool.
I wish that realization brought me peace, but I only ever leave our interactions feeling blinded by anger or numb and empty once all the fury inside me burns.
Today, numbness wins.
