“You’re so easily offended, aren’t you?” he says once his laughter is under control. “Yes. It does.”
“Why can’t someone else handle it?”
“Because I want you to handle it.”
“I think I’m going to have to pass.”
That pisses him off, my refusal.
“Are you sure you want to say no to me?” he asks. “You know how upset I get when I hear that word.”
“Apparently not enough to have a heart attack or something.”
His nostrils flare and all the charm and all the ease that he portrays to his investors at his parties slips even further. He goes from being a posh businessman to just a man from the wrong side of the tracks who managed to own everything that he ever set his eyes on, either by hook or crook.
“You remember what happened last time when you said no to me, don’t you?”
I do.
I do remember it.
“Yeah, last time when I said no to you, you blackmailed me into working for you.”
His eyes narrow. “And whose fault is that? I let you run around, do whatever the fuck you wanted while growing up. You wanted to be a little shithead who hated his daddy, fine. But you don’t fuck with me when I ask you nicely. I asked you to quit soccer, forget about the championship game, that fucking scholarship — like you even needed a scholarship when yourfather’s loaded — and come work for me. But you didn’t listen. So I had to show you who was boss.”
“And you’re the boss, aren’t you? Always.”
“Yes. Because Ialwayswin,” he declares, his features morphing into something harsh, villainous. “I always get what I want. So instead of being an ungrateful son of a bitch, try showing some gratitude that I’m leaving you this company. That I’m going to teach you how to fucking run it, because I’m not letting you ruin my life’s work. And I’m not leaving it in the hands of someone as incompetent as you.”
Yeah, that’s been the whole saga.
My father and his company. How he built it and how he wants me to run it. How he won’t let me escape it. How he’ll do anything to force me to take the reins.
Although in his defense, he did ask me nicely.
In my senior year, he asked me to not apply for a soccer scholarship. Repeatedly. He asked me to quit the team. Repeatedly. And when I didn’t listen, because I was such a shithead who hated his daddy, he gave me an ultimatum the night before the championship game.
He told me that if I showed up to play the next day, he’d make my life very difficult. He would hate that, but he’d do it.
Not only that, he even showed up at the game. Maybe to intimidate me I think.
So to fuck with him, I made sure that I won. Right in front of his eyes.
And well, he delivered on the promise.
He did make my life difficult. So I really have no reason to be angry or frustrated because I brought this upon myself.
But Iamangry and frustrated.
I am fucking furious, not because he fucked with me, but because in the process of fucking with me, he fucked with someone else too.
He fucked with her.
The girl whose heart I broke and who stole my Mustang.
Tempest callsme as soon as I get into the car after my disastrous meeting with my dad. I’m about to head to the hotel I’m staying at, because I can’t stand staying at this house, but I go alert.
“Pest, you okay? W —”
