Page 12 of For Her Own Good

“You’relucky my father isn’t alive. He’d fire you for being so callous.”

“Hey, Starla. Don’t be like that. I’m sorry. You’re right, that was over the line and I apologize.”

I’d still deck him if he were here, but I appreciate the apology. Tad was always good with apologies. We dated for two years, so I would know. I think my father hoped we’d get married and rule over his empire when he decided to retire, but clearly, none of that worked out: my father never had the chance to retire, Tad and I are over and have been for a couple of years now. Doesn’t stop him from being overly familiar with me. I guess what’s what happens when men stick their dick in someone; they think they own them, are entitled to them. Fuck that.

“Fine. But my question remains the same. What do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

For fuck’s sake, not this again. I do know what he wants and I also know I don’t want to give it to him.

“I do and you can’t have it. I haven’t decided what I’m doing with my shares, and you calling me every three days to chat about it isn’t going to speed up the process.”

There’s a grunt of frustration and it sounds unpleasantly like when we used to fuck. Didn’t need a reminder of that either.

“Then what will it take? You’re not fulfilling your fiduciary duty as the person who holds a controlling interest in Patrick Enterprises. You have a controlling interest and while I know topping isn’t your thing, you have to fucking do something.”

The truth is Idon’tlike making these decisions. They feel overwhelming and too huge and it’s easy to start catastrophizing. When you have a controlling interest in a Fortune 500 company, it’s not actually exaggeration to say that decisions you make could ruin people’s lives. Tens of thousands of people’s lives. Which makes me feel queasy. And unworthy. Whose fucking idea was it to leave me with all this? My father’s, which on the one hand was an incredible vote of confidence. After all we’d been through together, he believed I’m stable enough, strong enough, to be trusted with his life’s work.

After years of acting like I couldn’t be trusted to handle anything, he’d started to treat me as though there was a possibility of handing me the reins someday. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him I didn’t want the wild stallion he was trying to get me to take on. I’d done everything he asked like attend meetings and look over reams of reports and keep up with all of the market fluctuations and what that meant for Patrick Enterprises because I wanted so desperately to win his approval. I was so proud that he saw me as potentially worthy after half a lifetime of being a disappointment.

On the other hand of what I feel was an enormous compliment, I don’t want this, and god, I feel the weight of it. It’s so heavy and makes the tide of my depression come in faster.

I find myself wishing a dozen times a day he hadn’t left this all up to me. I cannot handle it and maintain my hard-won mental health. It’s too much stress, too much pressure, too many hours, too many moving parts…too much. And I wish to fuck Tad didn’t know that so well.

Yes, I hate it. But would I also have been mortified and insulted if my father had taken the choice away from me entirely? I’d like to think no because I’m aware of my own capabilities and capacity, but if anyone knows brains aren’t always rational, it’s me.

The point now, though, is to get Tad to back all the way up because whether I like it or not, I’m the one who’s been charged with this responsibility, not him. And while I’ve never had reason to believe he’d act against my father’s wishes, I’ve also not had much experience with him without my father’s guiding hand. I do know Tad wishes my father would’ve been more aggressive in his business decisions and that alone gives me pause. So, he wants me to make a choice?

“I will, once I figure out what is in the best interest of my father’s legacy and the people who rely on Patrick Enterprises for their livelihoods.”

“Legacy? What the fuck is that? Maybe you should care more about the living than the dead.”

“I do, and so did my father. Which is why I’m going to take my time, do my homework, and figure this out. You bullying me is not going to help your case. If you’ll excuse me, I also have a responsibility to my clients and I need to get back to my work. I’ll see you at the next board meeting.”

Hanging up on Tad is not quite as satisfying when there’s only a button on a screen to press instead of a handset to slam down onto a cradle, but it’s satisfying nonetheless, perhaps because of how little effort it takes to shut him up, at least in this medium. Except his call has riled me and it’s going to take a bit to center myself enough to silence the thoughts now stampeding through my mind instead of concentrating on what will work best for Nora.

I close my eyes to do one of my meditation exercises, since outright telling my mind to shush has never worked for me. I need something to focus on and my breath isn’t going to cut it. On my worst days, it made me think about how much oxygen I was taking up and maybe it would be better used by someone else who wasn’t such a waste of space. So, no, breathing isn’t going to work. I have a catalog full of meditations I can guide myself through, but the one I reach for most frequently is one Lowry taught me.

I thought for a while that I had a fondness for it because he’d been the one who gave it to me to store in my mental toolbox. But even when I was at peak fury with him, I would still reach for it because it plays nicely with my brain.

Colors.

Taking a deep breath, I start with yellow because it’s my favorite color. Summon images of all the best things of that hue. Daffodils. Roses. Fat fuzzy bumblebees, their round bodies defying physics as they trundle through the air. The warmth of the sun on my face. A favorite rain slicker I had in elementary school before my brain went haywire. Lemons. Fluffy Easter Peeps, tomatoes, sunflowers, perfectly ripe and spotless bananas. The tart-sweet flesh of pineapples, lilies in full bloom. Yellow.

My breath and heartbeat have already slowed and I haven’t even finished with yellow. That’s why I love this. By the time I come around to orange, I’ll be thoroughly grounded and able to do my best work for Nora. Except my fucking phone rings again, and I swear to Christ, if it’s Tad again, I’m going to march over to his penthouse and push him off the balcony. Can he not take a hint? It wasn’t even a hint, it was a smack in the face.Go away.

But the name flashing on my screen isn’t Tad. It’s one I haven’t seen for years. Fifteen years to be exact. Lowry Campbell. My heart doesn’t slow, it skips a beat and then goes double time to make up for it. That’s cool, just going to have a cardiac event right here at my desk.

Lowry. I did tell him to call me yesterday, but I didn’t expect… Well, I did have his number. Because why would he have changed his cell? He wouldn’t have. Didn’t. And that didn’t occur to me, why? The man impairs my cognitive abilities. Which is probably why I’m still staring at his name flashing on my phone instead of answering his call. I’d better pick it up because I don’t know if I’ll be able to work up the nerve to call him back. Though I wouldn’t mind having a voice message from him that I could listen to whenever I pleased. That would be beyond satisfactory. But the risk is too high and I already used up my moxie speaking with him yesterday. Best to pick up now. Now.Now, you foolish girl.

I try not to choke as I greet him with what I hope is an airy, nonchalant, “Hello?”

* * *

Lowry

She picked up.

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