Page 7 of Elusive

Chapter 3

Presley

“Morning, Daddy!” I turn on the charm as I barge into his office.

“Hey, Princess. You lost?” He rises from the chair behind his desk to come hug me.

“Nope, you’re exactly the big, strong, smart, wonderful protector and provider I was looking for, so, not lost.” I pat his chest and look up at him with patented “your baby girl” eyes.

“Oh, Lord,” he laughs, “let me sit back down for this. Your mom made me wear my nice shoes today, can’t be stepping in the load of shit you’re about to drop. What do you want?” He rests his elbows on the desk, fingers steepled under his chin while he gives me his patented, one brow raised “I’m onto you” look.

“You know how you’re always saying it’s a waste of my degree that you ‘paid through the shit shoot for’ that I only work for you, doing the payroll and books for one club?”

“Uh huh,” he hums skeptically.

“Well, you have two clubs now. I want to make you proud, and give you a return on your generous investment in me, so, how about I start handling payroll, inventory, and whatever else you need done for Lit too?” I finish with perfect tone, posture, and an adamant lift of my chin, as if in a real interview.

“You wound me, Princess.” He tries to pout instead of laugh, while clutching his chest. “Have you ever, once, been able to bullshit your old man?”

I mull it over, coming up empty. “No,” I utter, posture and chin drooping in defeat.

“Then why even try?”

“I… I don’t know what you mean.” I cast my eyes to the far side of the room since I’ve never been able, or had the need to, outright lie to my father’s face.

“The hell you don’t. Have a seat. Let’s shoot each other straight. Sound like fun? That veneer you’re hiding behind is pathetic at best. Oh, side note, your mother’s trying to incorporate new words other than ‘fuck’ into my vocabulary every day. Today’s word is ‘veneer,’ so make sure you mention to her, casually of course, that I used it.”

“I’ll get right on that, Hemingway.”

“Good. Now, enough BS. Let me take a crack at whatcha got cookin’, and you correct me where, and if, I go wrong.” He leans back in his chair, sporting a shit eating grin. “You thought I’d forbid you from Sutton, like I do every other guy, and it ate your ass when I didn’t. I was trying reverse psychology, and it worked, ‘cause you quit him before I could blink. Boy’s a hard worker, hasn’t ever called in or been late, can bartend as well as he bounces, got back in school to finish his degree and finally stopped moping over you. My guess is you gave him the time of day again and he gave you your walking papers. And as your father’s mini-me, you can’t stand being the dumpee instead of the dumper, so you wanna work at Lit to fuck with him. Not gonna happen.” He shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “It’s been months, P. You don’t get to decide to just pop back in and screw with someone’s life, again, because you’re bored, or got a wild hair up your ass. I raised you to be strong, secure and independent. Not cold, callous and without any regard for other people’s feelings, young lady. Big fucking difference. The answer is no.”

“Please, tell me how you really feel,” I puff out a load of angry, offended air. “Don’t hold back just because I’m your only child!”

“I’d die for you. You know that. I’d kill for you. You know that too. But you’re not a child anymore. Time to quit playing childish games, especially when other people could end up collateral damage. There’ll be other guys. Learn from this obvious regret and take some time to give the poor schmucks in the future a real chance before tossing them aside.”

“You’re encouraging me to date?”

“Not per se.” His brows fold at the thought. “But I am encouraging, no, insisting, that you adjust a few things about your approach and retreat. Also, need ya to tell your mom about all those fancy words I used.”

“Noted, to perhaps be taken into consideration. The part about me, not your vocabulary. And just for my own curiosity, how do you know so much about me and Sutton?”

His head falls back with his robust laugh, and it takes more than a minute for him to recoup. “Are you new? I heard bits and pieces from your mom, who, I’d say, heard it from Whitley, her informant Sky, as told to her by JT. But I’m only guessing at the order of “the chain,” mind you.”

Swear to God... this family.

“So, you’re really not gonna give me the job at Lit? The bar I scouted the location for, named, did major promo for, and helped decorate?”

“Nope, I’m really not.”

“You just chose Sutton, whom I did nothing mean or wrong to, over me.” My thought slips out… and sounds just as bratty in the air as it did in my head.

“Maybe not on purpose. I don’t think you’d ever set out to hurt someone, but baby girl, the trail of broken hearts you’ve left behind you is pretty fucking long. And you know damn good and well that I always choose you, so save your little tantrum. It’s because you, and your good character are my main concern, and job, that I’m helping you, by enforcing a wake-up call. Don’t worry, you’ll live.”

I don’t… can’t... even. What the hell is happening? The last twenty-four hours have got to be some sort of bad dream. Since when did being particular, and not jumping into bed, or a commitment, with every guy who took an interest become a crime? And on what alternate fucking universe did I suddenly land where my dad lectures me on giving humans with dicks a chance?

Or does the imposter disguised as my father have a point? Is this irony’s demented way of teaching me, hands-on, how it feels to be on the receiving end... of me?

I thought I felt… icky, just overall not real good about myself before. Now? I hope like hell I don’t stumble across a mirror; I’d be afraid to look.

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