She’d certainly gotten his full attention back, although his gaze shifted uneasily from her to the door to the phone on his desk. Clearly his first thought was to call security. Assuming he had any, which it sure seemed as if he didn’t, since she’d made it this far unchallenged.
“I’m not here tomurder you in your sleep,” she threw his own words back at him, “or while you’re awake for that matter. I just thought it was time for us to meet.”
“Why?” he asked bluntly. “If you want more money?—”
Moremoney? Her grandfather, wanting the circus to stop, had intentionally never pursued a civil suit against Milt Devonshire Junior, a fact that continued to irk Carlotta to this very day.
“I don’t want your money.” Emily let herself get affrontedandlet it show. How dare he? “This isn’t about money.”
“Oh, it’s always about money.”
“Well, congratulations, Mr. Devonshire. You’re a million years old and still having brand new experiences. Because I absolutely do not wantanyof your money. I just wanted to meet you. To sit here, like this, and talk. We have a lot in common, you know. Your son didn’t just hurt me and my family, he hurt you, too.”
The old man laughed a little. “So, what? Your therapist convinced you that I’d wanna join your sad little support group?”
“That’s not why I came?—”
“No, thanks.” He cut her off. “I haven’t seen my son in years. As far as I’m concerned, he’s dead to me. He stole from me—five million dollars—and that was that. I have no desire to think of him, ever. Or you, for that matter.”
Damn, he was a nasty, unpleasant, angry old man whose ire was focused on the money he’d lost, rather than the death of an innocent woman. “Wow. You can’t even bring yourself to sayI’m sorry my son killed your mother?” she asked.
“Oh, is that what you want?” he asked. “Sure. I can do that. Sorry he killed your mother. Although shouldn’thebe the one saying that to you?”
“I haven’t been able to find him,” Emily said.
“Well, don’t look at me,” he said. “I have no clue if he’s even still alive. Good riddance if he’s not. Are we done here? Good bye.” He picked up the remote again.
“Wow, you really are an asshole,” she said, reaching down into her bag and pulling out the huge photo she’d framed at not an insignificant expense. She put it onto his desk in front of him with a bit more force than she’d intended, making him jump. Good. “This is for you. Asshole.”
He looked at the photo of his estate, looked back up at her. “Where did you get this?”
“I took it. With a drone. I’m a photographer.”
“Do you spy on me often?” he asked as he frowned down at the framed photograph.
“No,” she said sharply. “Goddamnyou’re a piece of work. I was curious about you, and I was trying out some new equipment, and... your stupid estate is a freaking work ofart, all right, plus that incredible sky...? I just... I wanted you to have it. A little piece of me. And of you. Interconnected in a much better way than we’ve been before this.” She stood up. “I know you don’t care, but I do. So yeah.Nowwe’re done. Goodbye, Mr. Devonshire.”
She turned to leave, but he stopped her.
“Emily,” he said.
She turned back, hope leaping alive in her heart for... what she didn’t know. An invitation to stay for lunch? A budding friendship started in bitter acrimony? A hint of kindness and humanity in his watery blue eyes?
Instead he gazed up at her coldly, his wrinkled face harsh. “EmilyJohnson?”
“My name’s on the bottom right of the photo,” she told him. “Andstamped on the back of the frame.” Her web address was part of her logo. If he wanted to find her, he could. Hopefully not to have her arrested, but with this son of a bitch, you’d never know.
“Thank you,” he said almost flippantly. “That’s all.” He waved her away with a few flips of his hand. “You can go.”
He’d only wanted to get in the last word, to be the one to dismiss her.
She stomped away, but then stopped at the door and called back to him. “Hey, asshole.”
He looked up because of course he knew she was talking to him. He was the only asshole in the room. She smiled sweetly as she flipped him the bird and walked out.
And that was it. He’d never reached out, never apologized further, never thanked her for the photograph. For all she knew, he threw it in the trash.
And try as she might to find his son, she’d failed there, too. Which was probably for the best, because anyone raised by that awful man had to be seriously damaged goods.
