So I popped in my headphones and hit play on his YouTube channel. I needed to hear him, to feel like somebody understood me, to feel less—
“You fired Spencer?” Dad stormed into my office. I pulled my headphones out as I stood to face my father, who looked angrier than I’ve ever seen him. “Of all the impulsive decisions … I thought your head was straighter than this. That you wouldn’t let your emotions rule you.”
“You don’t care that I caught him sexually harassing an employee?” I lifted my chin, not backing down from my decision. “Or that when I confronted him, he assaulted me?”
Dad ran a hand through his hair. “Of course I care, but you have to go through the proper channels.”
“Is that why he wasn’t fired 13 years ago, when he destroyed my life?” I asked with a choking breath. “Because of the properfuckingchannels?”
“He wasn’t fired because I was alone here!” Dad yelled. “You left, Victoria. Richard turned a blind eye, so it was me against the Larssons. Of course they buried it. And now you’re going to look like the scorned ex-wife trying to get revenge.”
“I’ll handle the PR fallout,” I said, adding another task to my already endless to-do list.
But Dad had gone still, his jaw tight, eyes locked on my computer monitor—where Cruz’s sweet face stared out from the screen, singing his love for me. Dad sneered, “And then I come in here to strategize fixing your fuck-up … and you’re wasting your time watching that clown."
My voice was venomous. “Take that back.”
“Every day you disappear and come out crying. Is this why? You’re being distracted by this attention grab?”
“That’s not why he—”
“This ends now, Victoria. You have responsibilities to this company. Time for you to grow up and move on,” he said, slamming my office door behind him.
"Ain't No Sunshine," Bill Withers
Victoria
Wednesdaynight,Istaggeredinto Dad’s apartment just before midnight. I called his name and braced myself, not sure whether I wanted his condemnation or silence. My greeting went unanswered, bouncing off the cold tile.
He wasn’t home again, just like last night. I’d spent two days meeting with legal and PR, expecting Dad to stroll into the conference room to discuss the fallout of firing the CFO.
And boy, had there been fallout.
The only remaining Larsson, being escorted out with a still-bleeding broken nose, his ex-wife the culprit. The vicious rumors about our lovers quarrel had started within minutes.
The police recovered my recording until the moment the phone broke, leaving me without video proof of his assault. Courtney filed a police report, but Spencer’s minions slandered her credibility since her video confessed to previous sexual activity that they claimed was consensual.
Thankfully the incident hadn’t leaked to the press yet, but we needed to be prepared. After hours of debating and a migraine lingering behind my eyes, I retreated to Dad’s vacant penthouse.
In my room, I used a wire coat hanger to unzip my sheath dress, finally inhaling what felt like my first full breath all day. Hanging it in the small closet, I missed my massive walk-in closets in Saratoga. Once again I considered finding a place of my own, or moving into one of Richard’s inherited properties … but the idea of living alone again made my stomach roll.
Sometime in the past three weeks, my heart had split into two halves. Victoria Blackstone showed up every day at work, polished and brilliant, the first to arrive and last to leave. She was lauded by the media for stepping into a nearly impossible role, admired by her staff for having a spine of steel.
The other half, Tori, was locked away deep in my heart, only to emerge when the rest of the world had gone to bed. At first, Tori tried to bring some joy back into her life by turning on her mopey bitch rock … but lately she hadn’t even had the energy for that.
As I pulled on my pajamas, Jurisprudence leaped from her windowsill perch. I scooped her up and buried my face in her fur as I walked to the kitchen, only to find the refrigerator stocked with trays of precooked meals. All the nutrients, none of the love.
I choked down grilled salmon and sweet potato, bribing my cat with morsels of fish, then took her back to my bedroom and closed my curtains against the bright city lights.
Climbing into bed, Jurisprudence’s soft fur and rhythmic purr were the only things holding me together. She’d been unusually affectionate, like she could sense that whatever shards remained of my heart after leaving Cruz were crushed when Dad stormed out. Not that there was much left to hurt—my chest felt like a hollow abyss, her forlorn howl echoing through the empty cavity.
I reached for my phone, scrolling through the texts he sent me every night without fail, focusing on last night’s, which I’d read twenty times today:
Cruz
Hey baby, hope you had a good Tuesday. Not much to report here—just changing light bulbs and missing you. Nothing
The band is playing tomorrow in Albany, so my text might be late. I’ll be thinking of you during every song.
