“You know him—which explains why you weren’t at all worried when I told you that he was the one I had looking into the texts, documenting Paige and Allister’s affair.”
“I wasn’t worried because I knew they were real and I knew I didn’t send them to Millie,” I tell him with a shrug. “I also know that Conner Gilroy is the smartest person on the Eastern Seaboard and if he’s involved in this mess, there’s a very good reason. Someone fucked up somewhere and it wasn’t me.”
Millie’s father makes a non-committal sound in the back of his throat before looking over the side of his chair, aiming his gaze at the floor. Looking back up at me, he frowns. “Is that blood?”
“Yup.” I flatten my mouth on a nod. “Allister was in here a few days ago. He said some things about your daughter that I took exception to.”
“You hit him?” He doesn’t sound concerned or disapproving at the thought.
“He called Millie a whore,” I tell him bluntly. “He’s lucky he didn’t leave my office in pieces and stuffed into a trash bag.”
When I say it, the line of Preston’s mouth hardens and he looks away like he’s trying to compose himself. When he finally looks back at me, his expression is carefully schooled. “I knew all about him,” he confesses. “I knew his real name. I knew he didn’t go to Columbia. About the arrests. I knew everything.”
“You had him checked out.” It’s not a question. Of course he did. He’s Preston Blackwell and Millie is his daughter. I’d be willing to bet he has former CIA on his payroll that don’t do anything more than dig for dirt, all day long. “You knew and you never told Millie.”
“The legal infractions were minor—a few drug charges and solicitation in college,” he tells me, trying to explain things from his point of view. “When I confronted him about it, he told me the drugs were found in a car, he just happened to be driving and the woman he was charged with soliciting was a woman he picked up in a Vegas hotel bar, and that the name change was to avoid complicating his future with his past indiscretions.”
“And you believed him?”
Preston’s mouth goes flat because he can hear theare you fucking stupid?in my tone. “What mattered was that he seemed to be on the straight and narrownowand that he made my daughter happy.”
“Except for the fact that he was screwing your niece behind everyone’s back,” I say, not willing to let him off easy. “Did you know he didn’t even pay for Millie’s engagement ring? She did. She paid for everything. That bottom feeder was leeching off her, from day one and you never said a word.”
“Yes, well…” Sitting up like I just took a swing at him, Preston nods. “I didn’t want to interfere. She’s a grown woman and?—”
“You offered me money and threatened to ruin me if I didn’t leave her alone,” I remind him. “That’s a fuck ton of interference for someone who just wants his daughter to be happy.”
“You’re right.” He gives me a frank nod. “After everything that happened—most of which I felt my silence was partly to blame for—when Paige called me and told me about your…involvementwith Mille, I over corrected.”
“Over corrected?” I bark out, the words sandwiched between a harsh laugh. “Okay…” Shaking my head, I swipe a heavy hand over my face. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
“I like you, Dean,” he tells me matter-of-factly. “I’ve always liked you. You’re an honest, hard-working young man.”
“But I’m not good enough for your daughter,” I finish for him quietly.
“Quite frankly—no, you’re not,” he tells me bluntly. “But to be fair—no one is.”
“Well, something we can agree on.”
Again, we look at each other for a long moment, assessing one another.
“Being a Blackwell isn’t easy,” he tells me. “Every relationship outside the family has strings. Everyone wants something. Everyone has expectations. I won’t apologize for trying to anticipate yours.”
“Sir, you don’t have toanticipateshit,” I say. “All you have to do is ask me.”
“Alright…” Leaning forward in his seat, Millie’s father looks me in the eye. “What do you want from my daughter, Dean?”
“I don’t want anythingfromher,” I tell him honestly. “I just wanther.” Shaking my head on a sigh, I sit back in my seat. “I know that must seem impossible to you—thatsomeone like me could look at your daughter and see something other than opportunities and dollar signs but that’s because you don’t know her—how incredible she is—and you don’t know me.” Because there’s no use in trying to make him believe me, I stop trying. “I don’t need your approval, Mr. Blackwell. All I need is for Millie to give me a chance to prove it to her, so do your worst because making her happy is the only thing I care about.”
“I had my people look into you too,” he tells me after a long moment.
“I’m sure you did,” I tell him with a nod. I’m not worried. I know exactly what hispeoplefound. I grew up in Fenway. My father and little brother are crabbers. My mom works part time in the elementary school cafeteria. I was an Eagle Scout. I worked my ass off in high school and graduated with a 3.9 GPA. I went to NYU. I have an MBA. I’m the first Mercer to go to college. I go home every year for Thanksgiving and I order more take-out than I can afford. That’s it. That’s all there is. No arrests. No scandals. No skeletons. Aside from my unhealthy and sometimes debilitating obsession with his daughter, there’s absolutely nothing remarkable about me.
“She knows,” Preston confesses quietly. “That I offered you money to leave her—Conner Gilroy told her.”
“I didn’t ask him to.” I give him a head shake. “I didn’t even know that he knew about that.”
“I believe you,” Preston says with a wry chuckle. “Something tells me there’s not much that young man needs to betold.” Laughter dying in his throat, he looks at me, suddenly serious. “I’m sorry, Dean. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for everything.”
