Page 67 of Seeds of Malice

Then it hits me. I know what needs to happen. I spend another hour researching options on my computer.

"Yes!" I shout, pumping my arm in the air when I finally find the perfect solution. I go outside, get on my golf cart, and drive to the main house.

I let myself in, ignore the staff trying to stop me, and go into my father's office.

He looks up. "Dax?"

"Everett," I reply.

My father's real name is Dax Everett Carrington, the fourth. I'm the fifth. So he goes by his middle name, which I'm happy about. I can't stand that I have his name, but at least he gets called something different.

His eyes turn to slits. "I told you not to call me by my first name. I'm your father."

I ignore him and take a seat, not looking for small talk. I announce, "There's a botany conference in New York. I need you to send John Ford to it."

He puts his pen down, sits back in his chair, and presses his fingers together, staring at me.

I remind him, "It's my right to make this decision, and you're to do it."

My father grinds his molars. He hates it when I order him around about the business.

I typically let him run things because there are trust stipulations in place. My mother's father hated my dad. He didn't want him to have the family business either.

But my father worked his way up and learned everything he could. So when my grandfather died, he was just as surprised as I was to learn he left the business to me and my siblings.

I was the one who was supposed to be in charge unless I couldn't take over after I graduated from college, then it would fall to my brother. My grandfather didn't believe women should be in business, so Avery doesn't even have that option, thank goodness. She'd run it into the ground. And I'm still way smarterthan my brother, so I won't let our family fortune go down the tubes.

Until I graduate, my father gets to run things. And his days of power are coming to an end. I remind him any chance I get.

He gives me a disapproving look.

It's in vain. I have the right to veto things and make decisions. There's no way this isn't happening.

"Why?" he questions.

"It doesn't matter why," I claim.

He argues, disdain clear in his tone, "You know I have to document everything for the trust or I can be sued."

It's another caveat my grandfather put in the trust.

My father hates it.

I love it.

"The week-long conference in New York is about hybrids, and there's some cutting-edge research. It makes sense for John to go. The staff is in place to care for everything while he's gone. So this is good for the business. Now document it and tell him to pack up," I order, getting up and leaving. I don't need to say anything more. I know my father will do it. He has to. He has no choice.

I get back on my golf cart, proud of myself, feeling elated that I figured it out, and I text Ivy.

Me: I figured out how we can see each other, my little wet slut.

A moment passes, and she doesn't respond.

Me: Are you squeezing that sexy pussy of yours together thinking about me?

Ivy: Dax! (Laughing emoji)

Me: Get ready for lots of time with me.

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