Page 71 of Big Daddy

I knew Quincey didn’t know how to navigate his relationship with Brielle. Hell, I heard for years from her how he was shitty at communication. I guess I stupidly assumed that since I am his lover, he wouldn’t make those same mistakes.

But again, what a fool I am.

“How—how did you get my project?”

His shoulders rise and drop in the most insignificant of reactions. “From your work computer.”

“You took it without my permission?” I ask, silently praying that his eyes go wide, that something clicks, that the gross overstep on his part slides into place, that he becomes aware, alert, and deeply apologetic. Instead, he stays true to form, saying, “That computer and everything on it is Parker & Pen property.”

I step back. “Excuse me?”

He smooths his hand through his hair, the same hand that just held my throat and ravaged my body. “I mean, it was fair game being on that computer, was it not?”

“Fair game?” I question. “So you looked at myFeetFansaccount on your computer. Should that page be made public for the entire office to see, since it was on a Parker & Pen computer?” I step into him, my nostrils flaring from anger and frustration. “Should I let Pen see myFeetFansaccount? It’s fair game, after all.”

“Not the same thing, Winnie, and you know it,” he gruffs, turning to walk out the door, and then down the hall. I follow after him, aggravated and impatient.

“What I know is that my final project is for my graduate professor, not for you to give to someone without my consent!”I fold my arms over my chest, doing my best to ignore the soft satin against my warm skin.

From the fridge, he retrieves a can of Diet Coke, popping it open before sliding it to me. “Listen, it’s a goddamn fight out there in the city to make a name for yourself.” He pulls out another can and opens it, squinting as he sips. I know that squint. It’s the first drink carbonation burn and god do I want it. But more than I want it, I need him to see that he fucked up. “Look at my daughter,” he continues. “She’s got a great thing going for her now but without that mentorship provided from the film school, she’d be making documentaries about trees growing that people only watch when they can’t find the remote or are home sick with some godforsaken bug!”

He moves around the kitchen island, coming to my side, bringing his hands to my face.

“Listen, this isn’t about control or handouts. This is helping the woman I love have a better start than she would without me.” He kisses my forehead then puts the can in my hand. “It’s like the job and the car and the referral to Dr. Wilder. It’s just a little help. It doesn’t mean you deserve any of it less.”

“Fuck you,” I murmur softly as my heart pounds and my chin trembles. He’s helping me and had Corinne not picked the worst time in the world to call, it may have even been a surprise.

“Try again, brat,” he whispers, kissing me softly before giving me what I now internally call theI’ll get you pregnantsmirk.

“Thank you,” I say before we seal the argument with a kiss. I sip my Diet Coke as Big Daddy makes grilled cheese sandwiches with cheeses I’ve never ever heard of, and we casually discuss how things went with Brielle. He tells me that he’s invited her to attend sessions with Dr. Wilder together, and that she’s accepted. Initially and selfishly I’m sad that Brielle didn’t tell me this, but I know that our relationship has changed, and this is an aspect of it. I want their relationship to thrive, and I know itneeds work. His eyes soften when I tell him it’s a good thing, and I see in that moment how much even Big Daddy needs emotional support.

All things said and done, we agree we have a long road of amends ahead of us where Brielle is concerned, but that we’re lucky that she understood as much as she did. I’m glad they’re going to see Dr. Wilder—truly. After we’ve eaten and Quincey has rubbed my feet, he locks up and turns off the fireplace. On the way down the hall he says, “the reason she called was to tell me she selected your work. She wants you. She wants to meet next week.”

chapter twenty-four

winnie

One monthlater

Brielle and I have been talking mostly through text for the last month, but today is our first meal… with no men. All of our security blankets are at home, and our big girl panties are on.

I nervously bounce my knee beneath the table while I twirl a piece of hair around my finger over and over. It won’t ever be the same between us, that part is true. But I hope that we can have something better, that just because I’m with her dad doesn’t mean that we can’t still be close.

The bell on the door jingles, stealing my focus. Brielle, her long blonde hair wrapped into a delicate bun at the nape of her neck, saunters in, smiling at the hostess while clinging to the purse strap on her shoulder. She’s wearing a camel-colored track suit, and the diamond studs on her ears shine. She’s gorgeous, she always has been. But with our dynamic shifted, seeing her walk up nearly takes my breath away.

“Hi,” she greets as she nears the table. I get to my feet and we share a long hug. It feels good to hug my best friend. I’ve missed her.

“Hi to you too,” I greet as we disband our embrace and sink into the wooden chairs circling our table. “God, you look great,” I tell her as I take her in, not a single strand of hair out of place.

“Thanks. I was actually at work so that’s why I look so put together,” she says, lifting the menu from the table without looking at it yet.

“Work? Today?” It’s Sunday, because Sunday brunch felt like the most non-threatening thing I could ask of her.

She nods. “Yeah. It’s a long story. I’m done now anyway.”

I pick up my menu and nod. “I thought it was just love that looks good on you.” The second I say it, I regret it, because I know she can point the barrel of the gun back at me easily this way. And we didn’t come here to talk about the fact that I love her father.

We came here to work on us.

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