Page 63 of My Bossy Billionaire Attorney

For some reason, and I’m ready to attribute part of it to Michael’s influence, I feel a bit guilty.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to say what you don’t feel or mean. I’m supposed to listen.” I say.

“Okay,” he nods briskly.

I fold my arms, leaning back on the headrest. As Michael said, I feel…good. While I’ve felt inferior to Peter all my life, I almost feel like we are on equal footing today.

He understands, and a smile touches my lips.

“Michael. He told me about the trial and the...uhm,” Peter pauses. “Your ex-fiance.”

I bite my bottom lip, reminded that Peter is the reason my father hasn’t called to remind me how much of a disgrace I am to him and the family.

“I never liked him,” he says. “I know it doesn’t mean much now but I always thought he was a bit shady, but you were happy with him, and it wasn’t my place to interfere, so I didn’t.”

The corner of my mouth tilts upward. Slightly. Hearing someone else validate my feelings about Brandon is a relief.

But I don’t let it show that his words get to me.

A part of the ice wall that has been built over the years to keep him out might be beginning to thaw. But it doesn’t take away all of the years of low self-esteem, self-degradation, and me always pushing myself to the brink of exhaustion that he was partly responsible for.

“Again,” he goes on. “I know it is not my place but if there is any way I can help you, then please let me. I want to help, Savannah.”

Despite my attempt not to cry, tears slip down my cheeks. I wipe them quickly, glancing away.

“Savannah,” Peter says in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t take away all the things I’ve done or should have donedifferently, but I’m sorry. I don’t know what I can do to make it up to you but I want to try.”

“Please,” he begs.

The sincerity in his voice and the brokenness in his demeanor tugs at my heart as I turn to look at him. I see tears in his eyes—unabashed regret.

“I’ve waited so long to hear those words, Peter,” I swallow hard. “The days when our father spoke of you, making me feel inferior, I wanted you to stand up for me. I needed to know that I had a brother, not a competitor.”

“But you didn’t,” the tears flow freely again. “Before you came into my life, I had my father but the day you walked through that door, with that bright smile, my father became yours. The spot I had as his child was yours because you were perfect at everything, and I was the child who would never be enough.”

He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry. I—I didn’t know you felt that way until it was too late and then I didn’t know how to make it better. It doesn’t excuse my ignorance, I know.”

I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. The courage that sitting on Michael’s chair gave me minutes ago dissolves as sobs rack through my body and all I’m left with is that small, empty feeling that my teenage self carried everywhere.

“I’ve spoken to him,” he goes on, referring to our father.

“Michael told me,” I say. “He said you threatened to disown him if he contacted me.”

Peter nods. “Yes. I did. I’m ready to stand with you. For you. To do anything that will help you win this case.”

“I’ve told Michael to keep me updated and I also went with him to the pawn shop.”

“You know about the knife then?”

“I do.”

I nod and we lapse into silence.

There is awkwardness hanging in the air but it’s better than the hostility that I viewed him with for so long.

We sit there for a while until the door opens and Michael walks in.

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