Page 82 of The Curveball

I let out a long breath. “Still, he’s never called this much. I should probably call him back.”

Alice jabs her key fob at me. “If there’s juice, you know what to do.”

“Text you guys. Yeah, yeah. I’ll give you all the boring details.”

I wave at them and slip into my car. Praise November in Las Vegas. It’s jacket weather, and my car isn’t an oven after five minutes. I pull out of the parking lot and dial the number, stomach tangled in nerves.

Sad how calling my dad makes me nervous.

After four rings, his burly voice fills the car. “Wren. Finally connected.”

“Hi. I saw your missed call and figured it must’ve been important.”

He scoffs. “Do I need a reason to call my daughter?”

“Usually.”

Silence. I’m not apologizing for the truth.

“Okay,” he says, clearing his throat. “Listen, I wanted to let you know I’ve purchased a large table for our executive team at the fundraiser. I assumed you’d be sitting elsewhere, but in the event Marks isn’t sitting with you, I purchased you a seat.”

I slam on the breaks at a stop sign so fast, I think my airbag might deploy. “Your executives? Everyone?”

“It would be strange to leave members of our top leadership out of an event. We’re a large empire, Wren.”

I joke with the word empire, but it makes my stomach sour to hear my dad think of himself as some kind of overlord. Can’t blame the man entirely, it’s the only life he’s really known. But if he’s bringing his department heads that means . . . no. No. I can’t drive. Not with this. I have enough brain power to do the safe thing and pull into the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant.

He’s still talking table arrangements. “Tell your brothers I’ve arranged to have you all sit with us, though I don’t know if there will be enough room for your brother’s wife.”

“Emma—”

“—but I’m sure we can pay for an extra place setting.”

“Dad—”

“So, do I need to arrange a car? Show up in style, Wren, and people will take you seriously.”

He’s ignoring me and I need an answer. “Grant!”

The line goes quiet for a long, awful pause. “I hate when you call me that.”

“The other word is earned.”

“What’s your problem, girl?”

“You’re not listening,” I say calmer than I expected. “First, you didn’t need to pay for our seats. Wedohave a table with Griffin, and there is plenty of room for Emma. Second, I need to know what you mean by executives.”

He pauses. “The department heads and the board, Wren.”

“Your team doesn’t include Clay, right?”

My dad lets out a long breath. “Wren—”

“No.” I’m abrupt. What did my counselor say for so many years? There needs to be a line, not in the sand, but drawn in wet cement, then left to harden. Unmovable. I am welcome to invite people over my line, but if they want me to move it, they are welcome to remain on the other side. This is my line. “I don’t want you to include Clay Rice. Please respect that.”

“How long are you going to exile him? He is an asset to me, and he’s family.”

“Was family.”

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