“People make mistakes.”
“And you just told me Angela and you are staying together. Meaning it wasn’t a mistake. You wouldn’t have told me about this had you not been caught and put my company at risk. All of this is very selfish, you know.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“If you say so,” I mutter, finishing my drink and pouring more. I’m going to need it. I didn’t plan on arguing with my son today, but he has an attitude, and I’m grumpy.
It falls silent for some time as we drink and finish our food. It’s awkward, to say the least, and I’m just getting ready to say my goodbyes, grab my things, and go home, when there is a knock at the door.
Harrison frowns, staring at it. Then looks at me with a raised brow.
“This isn’t my house,” I say.
He shakes his head and goes to the door, opening it.
I can’t see who stands in the hall because the door opens toward me, but I hear the voice, and I’m certain I know who it belongs to.
“I’m so s-sorry. I d-didn’t know where else t-to go.”
Why in the world is Seraphine crying?
Chapter Ten
Seraphine
One hour earlier…
I pull up to my father’s house with a stiff back and gritty eyes. Though sleeping in my car was uncomfortable, it didn’t stop me from oversleeping. Good thing my shift at the spa doesn’t start until late afternoon today.
The cop who knocked on my window was the one to wake me up. He told me I wasn’t in trouble, he just wanted to make sure I was alive.
After leaving the park I found myself in last night, I grabbed some food and coffee. Now I’m here, sitting in my car, trying to gauge how Dad’s mood will be when I go inside. Is he going to give me crap for leaving last night? Even though he told me to, it’ll still be something to complain about. Or will he finally, for once, give me a little bit of sympathy and act like the father he should be?
I hate being angry with him, hate having harsh feelings toward him, but I can’t help it. He’s hurting still, my mother’s death took a toll on him. I get that, but I’m hurting too. The change with him was like a flipped switch. The day before she died, he was fine. His happy, cheery self. The day after? All the happiness was gone from his eyes. It’s like they were replaced with someone else’s. And now… I’m stuck with this shell of a horrible man who blames me for my mother killing herself. And I don’t even know why she did it and if I should be blaming myself. She didn’t leave a note. She and I got along great. There isn’t any reason for him to blame me—or for me to actually think it was my fault—other than not wanting to blame himself. And that really hurts.
With a heavy sigh, I shut off my car and get out. I take careful, slow steps toward the house, my skin prickling. I hate walking into this house; each time is worse than the last. I’m not sure why I thought coming back here would work, but more than ever, I need to find my own place. To get away from my dad before he drags me too deep into the darkness.
The offer from Mr. Caldwell gets more tempting the more I think about it. I should suck up my pride and do it. I mean, it’s just a job. He isn’t all that bad. But working with my ex’s father is a bad idea, especially after what we did. How will I look at him after that? He’s very handsome and charismatic. That’s a disaster waiting to happen.
And after all those things he said to me in the bar? It’s clear that sexual things are on the table for him, which isn’t the work setting I want to be in.
He’s thought about things likethatwith me, and though it should make me feel violated, it doesn’t. It makes me feel good. Seen. Like I’m important enough for a powerful man to notice. No one ever notices me. My boyfriend couldn’t even stand to be with me—he cheated on me, for crying out loud. My father has hated me for years and can’t stand to look at me without getting furious. So, the attention from Elliot Caldwell? It’s nice. Possibly addicting.
Which makes this dangerous, and reason enough to say no. But… if it’s only for a short time, I could manage it. I can keep my head down, do what he needs, get paid, then leave when my time is done. A man like him must use contracts for just about everything, so maybe we can get one of those. Like a six-month thing or something. With the amount of money I’d be paid in six months at the rate he’s willing to pay me, I could buy a house. Far, far away from here. I can tolerate being with my father for six more months. It’ll suck, but if I work long days and get back before he locks the door, it’ll be fine. I’ll come home and go right to bed. Be up before Dad is, and that’s that. I can totally handle this. Because obviously living with Mr. Caldwell is out of the question. I have self-control, but not that much self-control. Putting myself in that sort of situation is more than a bad idea—it’s downright stupid. Look what happened the first time I went to his house.
I step onto the first concrete step, then the second, and then the porch. I glance down at the dead potted plant. It’s still there, still dead. Still pathetic.
When I have my own place, I’m going to have a garden. One where I can grow my own vegetables. I’ll plant apple trees, raspberry bushes, and everything else I can think of. It was the dream Harrison, and I had together when he finished law school, but I don’t need him for this dream. I don’t need a man to help me with anything. I can do this myself. Harrison has no issue accepting help from his father so he can get where he wants, why can’t I do the same? Mr. Caldwell is offering, so I should take it. I just have to lay down rules and make sure he knows the massage thing was a one-time only deal. I’ll do the PA thing, but I am not massaging him or anything else. Touching each other cannot happen, no matter what.
With another heavy breath, I hold my chin high, open the door, and step inside.
The warmth is welcome, but there’s a strange scent in the air. Home always smelled so good when mom was alive, but after her death, it never smelled the same again. It didn’t have the homey, comforting scent I remembered, and now it’s bitter.
Shutting the door, I pull off my jacket and move down the hall and up the stairs to my room. The TV isn’t on in the kitchen, so I assume Dad is in his room taking a nap. He sometimes does that in the afternoons, and the last thing I want to do, after making him angry last night, is wake him up now. As quietly as I can, I get up to my room, grab some clothes and goto the bathroom. I spend a lot of time in the shower, but not enough to use all the hot water in case Dad wants to shower when he gets up. I can’t do anything to upset him today, I need to sleep in my bed tonight. I can’t handle sleeping in my car again. If it happens again, I’ll have to suck it up and get a hotel for the night.
I dry off and get dressed, then head back to my room to make sure I have everything together for work. If I leave now I’ll be early, but it’s better than being late and better than being here. Doing one more sweep to make sure I’ve got everything I need, I head out of my room and carefully walk down the stairs. I veer left toward the front door, but stop at the last minute. I should pop my head into the kitchen just to see if Dad is in there. If he is, I should say goodbye. If he isn’t, well, I tried.
I move toward the kitchen, hesitating when that bitter smell gets stronger. It’s metallic, stale. Reminding me of spoiled food. I take my first step into the kitchen and freeze. I stumble back, slamming into the wall behind me so hard the air punches from my lungs. A scream gets caught in my throat, and I fight to take in air. My brain isn’t working. It’s short-circuiting, not understanding but also understanding all too well what I’m looking at. What’s right in front of me.
