Page 62 of Bidding War

That minor detail is going to haunt me until she quits him. I cannot figure out how she has twisted her mind into such a pretzel that it makes sense to work for the man who fucking kidnapped her. No matter how fucked up it is, though, I cannot let my mouth run away from me and mention it to Dad. Ever.

It is bad enough that he’s blackballing her. If Dad finds out, she’s working for his enemy to insult him … I don’t know what will happen, but it won’t be pretty. Moss says he doesn’t send him out for insults, but this would be too personal for Dad to ignore, and I would hate to have to start a violent fight with my father, but if so, I will be the one to end it.

I will find a way to calm Dad down. I will get him to let this go. If he wants to ream me out, fine. I can take it. I’ve been taking that my whole life.

But he will not lay a hand on June.

I shake off the bloody thought as I park in the underground parking of our office building. Whatever the situation, I will not let it devolve into something physical between me and Dad over June. I don’t want that to stain the fabric of our relationship. As filthy as things began with her, I’d like to keep that relatively clean.

Minus the dirty things I do to her.

I head up in the elevator, nodding politely at the people who come and go on their floors, greeting those who know me by name. It’s strange to pretend to be normal when you only want to pull your hair out or run away, never to look back again. I do not like pretending. It’s unnatural to me. I’ve never had anything to hide in my life, so it feels wrong to pretend. Until now.

Once I reach Dad’s floor, I am surprised. His secretary is absent. That never happens. The woman is so dedicated that she has to be sent home whenever she’s unwell, which also seldom happens. The closer I get to his door, though, the more I realize why she’s gone. He must have sent her away so she didn’t hear him shouting. Who is he speaking to? I listen at the door.

But it opens a moment later, and I nearly fall into the room.

“You dumbass, I have cameras on my door. You think I don’t know when someone is standing there, listening in? Come in.”

“Just testing you,” I lie, then close the door behind myself. His office is as cold as he is, and I might feel it if I weren’t dressed for the weather.

He coolly sits behind his desk, then gestures to his guest chairs. “Sit. Now.”

“I prefer to?—

“Sit!” His facial lines tighten, smoothing them out to mere hints. When he’s angry, he looks younger than he is. I wonder if I’ll have that ability when I’m his age.

If I get to his age.

I sit across from him, not wanting to make things worse. “Care to tell me about your foul mood?”

“Care to tell me about the auction where you bought yourself a fake fiancée?”

“Well.” I will not squirm in my seat in front of him. I am not a frightened kid anymore. “No. Not really.”

He steeples his fingers with his elbows on the desk. Every breath he takes is smooth, as if he is willing himself to calm down. “Do you recall what I have told you for your entire life, Anderson?”

“You like to hear yourself talk, so you must be more specific.”

He grits his teeth. “Watch how you talk to me today. I am in no mood.”

I nod my assent but say nothing.

“In all your years, I have tried my damnedest to impart one simple lesson that will echo through our family’s history for all time. Every single thing you do reflects on the business.”

That’s what he’s mad about? “I am a relatively young man who bought time with a woman for a night, Dad. This is hardly a scandal.”

He stares blankly at me for a moment, then huffs a laugh. “Do you think I am so simple as to be offended by prostitution?”

“Given what I’ve seen of you recently, I’m surprised anything offends you.”

“That mouth again,” he growls before he sits back. “I am many things to many people, Anderson. A husband. A father. A boogeyman. A murderer. One thing I am not, however, is a hypocrite, and I will not pretend to be offended by prostitution, particularly when I am on the Chamberlain Museum’s board.”

I frown at that. “You’re on the board?”

“And the auction night’s committee.”

Something in my gut twists. My heart beats rapidly. I think I’m having one of those out-of-body experiences because I no longer feel attached to my bones. “You mean the public auction, right? The one everyone goes to?”

---