Page 33 of One Wealthy Wedding

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Cat

My asshole father eats lunch at the same restaurant every Saturday. It’s a see-and-be-seen type of place, which he vastly prefers to a family meal at home. As a child, I wondered why he didn’t want to eat at home, with me. As a teen, I grew to relish the weekends he was gone. Saturdays alone were bliss. My stepmom would inevitably be at the spa, so it would be just me and Brenda Archer, baking cookies at her house and trying to get Theo to help us decorate them. Half the time, it ended with him squirting icing on my face and running away with my best-decorated specimens.

And for the last few years, I waited for my dad to leave on Saturday morning, packed my bags, and left for the weekend. To Blair’s, where she’d take me to bars, and we’d go dancing. Or most recently, to weekend classes to shore up my English degree and turn it into something that could actually get me into business school.

I push open the door to the restaurant and immediately spot my father in the corner. He’s with a group of men around his age, and a lone woman. Probably Celia Drake, the only remaining woman on the board of Peterson International. The host gestures for me to go ahead when I tell him why I’m here, and nerves begin firing inside me. I press a fist to my stomach. I’ve already sweated through the blouse under my coat.

I will not panic.

Regrettably, my voice comes out high and nervous when I greet my father.

“What are you doing here?” he snaps.

“I came to talk to you.” I lift my chin. I didn’t want to do it here, in front of all these people, but I’m sure as hell not going back to Rockwood.

He gives me an insulting brow raise. His cronies are silent and still. “Run out of money already?”

I redden. “No.” Every snappy retort and brilliant comeback has fled. My father knows better than anyone how to make me feel small.

“If you’re not here to tell me you’re marrying Arnold Worth, I don’t want to hear it. You know the terms.”

Ha. Vicious satisfaction buoys me. He has no idea. “I don’t need to marry Arnold Worth,” I say. “I am married.” I hold my hand up so my father can see the massive diamond Theo bought. I hate the ring and how it feels like a lead weight, but my father will understand. It’s bigger than anything Arnold Worth can afford.

Thank you, Theo. For being the cocky jerk I know you to be, and for being so very good at throwing things in people’s faces.

My father’s eyes narrow. “Who married you?”

“Theo Archer,” I say with a small smile.

For a brief moment, my father looks unsettled, but he quickly recovers. “The Archer boy?” he scoffs. “You always were obsessed with him. Like mother, like daughter, I guess.”

Arnold Worth’s father laughs. He’s also named Arnold Worth, because he’s a pompous and uncreative prick. His primary interest in life is kissing my father’s ass. I narrow my eyes at him. He’ll be the first to go after I oust my dad.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I shouldn’t even dignify my father with a response, but every time he brings up my mother, I can’t help it.

“She always had a weak spot for the unwashed masses.” He shrugs, smiling, knowing this will drive me crazy. He’s so good at this, twisting a conversation to go in his favor.

I dig my nails into my palms. I need to regain control of this conversation. “The shares are mine. You’re done. If you step down now, I’ll let you keep Rockwood.”

I won’t have enough shares to oust my father without the board’s help. But maybe the estate is enough to tempt him to give up the company.

“Step down?” He barks a laugh. “You have a lot to learn about business, girl. I won’t step down. You’ll have to get rid of me the hard way. If you can stay married for that long. If the Archer boy doesn’t get bored and divorce you the first chance he gets.”

If the Archer boy doesn’t get bored. I fight to swallow down the embarrassment. My dad knows Theo left, even if he doesn’t know that it was mere days after we kissed.

It doesn’t matter if Theo gets bored. We’re done after a year. As soon as I have the shares.

I’m frozen with rage as my father shakes his head and turns back to his lunch martini and steak. Arnold Worth the Third slaps him on the back and mutters something in his ear.

The board members ignore me, and I turn on my heel and walk out the door.

I’m sweating under my coat, and the late February air feels deliciously cool on my cheeks. “Fuck,” I mutter as I pull out my phone. That went badly. Worse than I expected. Every confrontation with my father makes me feel helpless. I keep waiting to impress him, just like I keep waiting for him to change. I text Blair.

Cat

I’m going to need a lot of alcohol later.

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