“This is a member of our tech team,” Jay said.
“If it took six people all day and into the night, then that was four people too many and seven hours too long.” Typical Dad, always overestimating his abilities. “Anyhow, what’s for dessert?”
A shitshow with a side of chocolate mousse, it turned out.
“You cocksucker!”
I’d barely even registered Barbie and Spider moving, but somehow, they’d ended up between my father and Jay. Chase was one side of me, Nolan was the other, and Dawson formed a human wall behind me.
“It’s okay.” Jay stood. He was two inches taller than Dad, in much better shape, and a hell of a lot less drunk. “Care to elaborate, Reid?”
“You weren’t content with taking my company, so now you’re stealing my clients too?”
“I’m not stealing clients. I don’t have to.”
“One of your tech guys told Pete Maitland we ripped him off, and that’s bullshit.” Dad turned to Brax. “Was it you?”
I burst out laughing; I couldn’t help it. The idea of Brax doing tech support was ridiculous—he spoke three languages, and none of them were Python, JavaScript, or SQL. Plus Dad hadn’t registered my presence yet—he was such a chauvinist that his gaze simply skated over women as if they were accessories.
“I’m in the entertainment industry,” Brax said. “This could be a show in Vegas.”
Dad set his sights on Lucas next, and Lucas held up his hands.
“Don’t look at me. I’m just a movie star.”
When he got to Nolan, I saw red. All these years, and Dad still had the power to upset me, but this time, I was stronger than him. I got to my feet.
“It was me.” I held out a hand, even though the thought of him touching it made my skin crawl. “I’d say it was a pleasure to see you again after all these years, but I’d be lying.”
He just stared. “Alexandria?”
“Congrats on not totally forgetting what I look like.”
“How… What… How did you get in here?”
“I literally walked through the door, same as everyone else.”
Now Mom appeared. “Reid, they’re serving dessert. What’s going— Alexandria? Is that you?”
“What gave it away? Was it the eyes?”
Because she’d had so much work done, there weren’t many other similarities left.
“Well, we haven’t seen you in years. We figured you were dead.”
“And you’re disappointed I’m not?”
“Darling! Keep your voice down.”
“Why? In case everyone realises you’re shitty parents?”
“Shitty parents? You ungrateful little… We gave you everything. Ballet lessons, a grand piano, designer clothes, a private education…”
“…PTSD, anal tearing, a lifelong distrust of authority figures. How’s Uncle Porter doing? Still into little girls?”
“That’s my brother you’re talking about.”
“Be thankful he’s not the father of your grandchild.”
