I see the truth land in his eyes.
He'll never be the man my father was?—
not in smarts, heart, or talent.
Then he smothers it with amusement,
rocking his chair back.
“Yeah, go on. Pound your chest a little louder, baby.” He chuckles, gaze heavy on me. “You’re still the same little girl, all worked up and cryin’ for me as soon as the ground shakes. So go on.” He nudges his chin toward the folder. “Walk me through whatever crises you cooked up to get my attention this mornin’.”
I’m chewing on my thumbnail,
eyes locked on his.
He’s gonna find out about my maybe-illegal payment to Eli either way. Might as well tell him now so it comes from me.
I’ll say it calm,
indifferently,
in a blaséby-the-waytone.
“First, before I forget, I wired Eli the money last night.”
Yeah. If I were any calmer, they’d zip me up in a body bag and roll me out.
Still, it snags him as if I screamed it.
His gaze goes blank,
unblinking for half a heartbeat.
Then he squints.
“Say that again for me.”
I hold his stare with no regrets.
As if I thought all this through. (I didn’t.)
As if I’d do it again tomorrow. (I would.)
“I sent it. From my account. To him.
“Since you won’t run this label with an ounce of honesty, I didn’t have much of a choice. But this—” I shove the folder until it bumps his keyboard. “This ends now.”
He studies me,
fingers bridged beneath his chin,
elbows wide,
tattoos peeking out from under his cuff.
“Same blood, same fuckups.
“Apple didn’t fall, huh?”
