Page 75 of Big Daddy

I’m not gonna walk away.

I am, however, going to get to the bottom of whatever the fuck is going onwithoutWinnie’s help. I asked her. She had her chance.

Once I’m at the office, I pull up herFeetFansaccount, relieved beyond reason to see it is inactive and therefore, the photos and information has been archived. Okay, so it’s not a former client bugging her.

She said she was talking to Brielle so I call Brielle. The only problem is, she’s at work by the time I call her and she whispers she’ll call me later then hangs up. Not that I think she’d be loyal to me over Winnie, anyway, but no stone goes unturned. I check my cell and at mid-morning, I still haven’t heard from Winnie. She has therapy today, and even though I know Dr. Wilder can’t tell me anything, I also know Ida can’t refuse divulging too much as long as she’s fed the right compliments. All I want to know is if she went to her appointment. That’s a small ask.

I pick up my phone and hit the speed dial just as Pen saunters in, another ridiculous bolo tie around his neck. We live in California. The bay fucking area for Christ’s sake. The bolo tie doesn’t fucking work. I fight the urge to roll my eyes at just the look of him.

“That office,” he starts, tipping his greasy hair-covered head to the wall adjacent, where a brand-new office sits. “Did we decide we’d give it to Ken, as office manager?”

Ida picks up. “Good morning, Dr. Quinten Wilder’s office,” she greets, the soft Pachelbel music wafting through the receiver, distilling a bit of calm into my veins. Much fucking needed with the mood I’m in.

Pen takes a step inside my office but I shake my head, snapping at him to step back. He freezes.

“Good morning, Ida, this is Quincey Parker,” I greet, promptly covering the phone receiver with my hand before whisper-hissing at Pen.

“The office is not for Kennedy. Don’t touch it and get out. I’m on the phone,” I growl, the veins in my neck swelling with each angry word delivered. I take my anger out on Pen a lot butyou know, he kind of deserves it. He’s slimy, to be honest, and rather annoying. Not to mention, the man can’t take a goddamn hint if it fucking French kissed him. “Out!” I snap again when he remains motionless. Finally, he scrambles out, closing the door behind him with a dramatic slam.

“Oh Mr. Parker, it’s always a pleasure to hear from you. I hope you’re not calling to cancel your appointment this week—I love seeing you and your daughter,” she says, and I know she means every word. Something I’ve learned being a lawyer is how to spot genuine people. How to find the honest folks in the pack of wolves. Ida is not a wolf. She is genuine, and genuinely enjoys visiting with Brielle when we’re in the office.

“We’re not canceling, we’ll be there on our normal day,” I assure her with a soft chuckle meant to lighten the momentarily tense chat. “I was actually looking to pick your brain about a gift for our lovely doctor,” I tell her, quickly scribbling on a brief to get Dr. Wilder an actual gift so this call doesn’t look like bullshit a week from now. “For fitting my daughter’s friend in, for fitting myself and my daughter in, for everything he’s done to help us.” I’m surprised to find I mean those words and that I am grateful for Dr. Wilder. I’m surprised that I don’t feel weak for having someone more emotionally adept, schooled and skilled help me work things out with my daughter. I thought I would, but I don’t. I just feel… grateful.

“Oh, Quincey, you’re just so thoughtful. That’s really unnecessary,” she says sweetly, then drops her voice to add, “but he loves playing the back nine at the Salinas Country Club. Pro shop or time on the course would be used for sure.”

I smile, adding the golf course information to the brief I’ve already ruined with notes. “And Ida, what might you enjoy? Hmm? You’ve helped us, too. In fact,” I say, feeling every bit the smarmy asshole I’m about to be.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she staves off.

“Chocolates? Are you a Godiva gal or a Lindt lady?” I ask, my pen at the ready.

Ida giggles. “Godiva, I suppose. But it’s really not necessary.”

“Truffles?”

She wastes no time replying. “I love everything but caramels.” She lowers her voice. “Not good for my dentures.”

I smile. “Perfect. Noted.” I tap the end of my pen against the notepad and count to five. “So Ida, I was wondering if Ms. Collins is at her appointment today?”

Ida hums, the sound of planner pages being sifted through coming in through the receiver. “Oh,” she says, the noise stopping suddenly. “I suppose I’m not allowed to tell you who's here or not.”

My brows fall into a straight line as I sink into the tall-backed leather chair at my desk. “Ida, my secretary just came in and she said she’s got two extra tickets toGuys and Dollsnext weekend. You wouldn’t want to lift those off her hands, would you?”

“Guys and Dolls? Frank hasn’t taken me out in ages. I’d love to but oh they’re too much money. You can’t gift those to me,” she says, verbally waving me off, disappointment edging into her words.

“Is Ms. Collins at her appointment, Ida?”

A beat passes.

“Kennedy!” I shout, tucking the receiver into my chest so Ida won’t hear. A moment later, Ken stands in my doorway, a pen and paper at the ready. “I have a friend that will take those two tickets toGuys and Dollsnext weekend. Yeah, I told her--best seats in the house! Send them to Ida at Dr. Wilder’s office. This afternoon please.”

Ida squeals and Kennedy nods before closing the door behind her, aware that she must now buy and deliver those tickets.

“She’s here.” Ida sounds only somewhat ashamed as she asks, “Are drinks included?”

One day you’re a top billing lawyer with the world by the balls and the next you’re reclined in your driver’s seat in a parking lot watching a twenty-six-year-old to try and understand what’s wrong with her.

Fuckin’ wild few months it’s been.

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