“I admit I’m hoping you’ve changed your mind about staying in Florida and playing doctor when there’s a lucrative business that needs to be run here and its future to be considered.”
I draw a deep breath and again ignore the comment I don’t want to address. The last thing I need to do is get drawn into a fight and lose the higher ground.
I grip the armrests of the chair tightly. “Actually, I’m staying in Florida.”
“Is this about that girl?” My father’s face grows red with anger.
“No. This is about me.” I hate the denial but know it is necessary.
At this point, Bri has everything to do with my choices, but I’d already known my plans for my career prior to spending the weekend with her and falling in love. Has it happened fast? Sure, but I trust my gut. She is it for me.
“Then why? Your family is in New York. The business is in New York.”
Leaning forward in my seat, I appeal to a place inside Martin that I’m not sure exists. “Look, Dad. I’m happy there. And I’m not playing doctor, I am a doctor, and I’m damned good at it. Not only do I have a great job with the Miami Thunder but I’m volunteering at a health clinic in a neighborhood that is desperately in need of medical care.”
“And that’s more important than your family legacy?” my father sounds horrified.
“Frankly, yes. The clinic is in a depressed area of the city, and my friend and fellow doctor Braden Prescott and I have a plan to remodel the place, invest in state-of-the-art equipment, and treat people who don’t otherwise have access to care.”
My father narrows his gaze. “And you’re here because you want access to your trust fund, I presume?”
I nod. “I do. I think your father would like that his money was going for a good cause.”
The deep sigh echoes around the room as my father steeples his fingers together in thought. Tense silence passes, and I do my best not to tap my foot impatiently or otherwise rush Martin’s thinking process despite my own nerves being on edge. The sound of a clock ticking adds to my stress.
“I’ll tell you what. I have a proposition for you. A quid pro quo.”
Wary now, I clench my jaw and indicate my agreement to listen with a curt nod.
A pleased smile lifts my father’s lips, and I know I’m not going to like the proposal. I steel myself to hear it, certain my father is going to somehow force me to return home and work the business in exchange for the clinic money. In which case I won’t be there to see my dream come to life, but the people I’ve come to know will have access to everything they need. But I am getting ahead of myself, and force my heart rate to calm as I wait.
My father straightens his posture as he says, “I’ll give you the money for your little health care center if you marry and provide your mother and me with an heir.”
That idea hasn’t even been on my radar. “What century is this?” I ask, my tone rising.
“Lower your voice. I don’t want your mother running in here and interrupting us. Think about it. Your brother is gone, ruining any chances we have of a grandchild, and your mother is distraught about it. The family name needs to live on, and you’re the only one who can make that happen.”
I rub a hand over my eyes before meeting my father’s gaze. “What else?” I ask, certain I haven’t heard everything.
“You’re a smart man, son. And if I thought for a moment I could force your hand and get you to come home and take overthe business, I would. But I know damned well you’d turn me down no matter the consequences.”
My father studies me with a hint of… It couldn’t be pride I see. But he is acknowledging my dedication to my career.
“You’re right. So what is the catch?” As I ask, the answer dawns on me and my entire body stiffens. “I am not marrying Corinne,” I say, just as adamant about that as I am about staying in Florida.
My father lets out a low chuckle. “I realized that as well.”
In other words, in the short time since I have asked for the money, my astute father has sifted through all the possible blackmail options and come up with the only one he knows I may agree to.
“You really are a piece of work,” I mutter, my gaze settling on one of the expensive paintings on the wall in the office.
Martin Northfield shrugs. “I didn’t keep us where we are in life by being stupid.” He sets his hands on the armrests and pushes himself up from his seat. “So those are my terms. Let me know what you decide. Have a good flight back to Florida,” he says and walks out of the room, leaving me alone with the bomb he’s dropped in my lap.
I rest my head against the back of the chair and groan. Marriage. The idea itself isn’t the problem. Bri and I laughed about it enough over the weekend, and she didn’t freak out at the idea. My gut tells me she definitely wants to get married and have children one day with the right man. A man who wants to marry her because he loves her and for no other reason.
Not twelve hours ago, she’d been in my arms and uttered the very words that puts up a roadblock to me asking her now.
You’re the first person to see past my family. The only guy who is with me for me. You don’t want or need anything from me, and I appreciate that more than you know.
