Page 12 of The Passion

“Then who has done this? Fuck, this can’t be happening, Flynn.” My mind is running over the events of that night and how much they might have seen. It’s not like it was a quick one-and-done. We went at it for hours… hours of me losing my mind in the hottest night I have ever experienced.

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out. Don’t do anything. My security team will handle it.” I know he’s trying to look after me, but I don’t need that. I know what happens when I let a man take control, and now I’m paying the consequences.

“Don’t treat me like I’m some delicate flower! We handle this together. Don’t you dare think I will sit back and do nothing.” Sitting up straighter in my chair, I can feel the adrenaline racingnow. The shock of it all is gone, and pure rage is surging forward. I plan on finding whoever is responsible and making them pay, big time!

“I wasn’t! Christ, you are frustrating. Let’s be honest, you are far from some fragile glass rose, instead more like a fucking wrecking ball. Look out, anyone who stands in front of you.”

“That’s exactly how I want it.” And it is. I don’t let anything stop me. There are enough barriers for a woman in any business that I refuse to sit back and take the glass-ceiling shit that is out there. I am who I am, and I will succeed on my own terms, not my friends’, not society’s, or most of all, my father’s!

As if thinking of him has conjured him up, my father comes striding through my door without even knocking. Not that he ever does. Apparently, I don’t deserve that respect.

“Just like your mother, a little wh—!” His deep roar fills my office, and I’m sure he can be heard in half the offices down the hall.

“Don’t you dare finish that word. Don’t you fucking dare, Father!” I can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.

“I’m on my way over there!” Flynn is now screaming in my ear.

Great, now I have two irrational dicks to deal with.

“No! I’ll call you back.” I can’t talk to both of them at the same time.

“Put me on speaker, the old prick doesn’t get to speak to you like that. Felis—” That’s the last I hear as I slam the phone down.

“Who the hell was that?” Father is now standing in front of my desk, puffing out his chest and trying to show his best I’m-in-charge look.

What the hell is it with people standing in front of my desk today trying to chastise me? Seriously, is it a full moon or some shit?

Ignoring his question, I stand, take a very deep breath, and walk to the side of my desk so we are on even ground.

“Let’s start that conversation again, Father. What do you want?” I’m trying so hard to keep my level head, when all I want to do is shove my fist in that mouth of his that was about to call me a whore.

“How could you be so stupid, Felisha, making a sex video, and with him!” I can see him standing there, but his body language doesn’t match the anger in his voice.

“Do you think that little of your daughter? Damn it, I didn’t consent to that, and how the hell do you know about this?”

“I got the email.” His hands are now on his waist, fists clenched like he used to do when I was little and he would pretend to be yelling at me because Mum told him that I’d done something wrong. But this time, it’s not funny.

“Crap, please tell me you didn’t open it.” The sheer dread of my father seeing me having sex has my knees almost buckling under me. Can this day get any worse?

“Of course I opened it, I had to verify it was you! No mistake, now is there!” Turning, he walks away from me, standing at the window and looking out at my perfect view that today doesn’t mean a thing. I would give it up in a heartbeat to make this go away. Standing with my head dropped, I can’t bear to look him in the eye anyway, so I’m glad he walked away from me. “No father should ever have to see his daughter like that. So cheap and trashy.”

His voice trails off, leaving my heart crushed.

He hurts me in so many ways that I continue to ignore, and I remind myself that he doesn’t mean it. He’s my father, and deep down he will always love me. But those words cut deep. Stupidly, he has me starting to crumble under his stern words.

“Father, I’m sorry…”

I bite my lip, trying to stop the tears that are building behind my eyes because I’m determined I won’t cry over this. But the hurt is excruciating.

Why wasn’t his first instinct to come in here to comfort me, to be outraged at who would invade his daughter’s privacy, or even to be worried by how our security was breached so badly? But no, instead, he is in here calling me a cheap, dirty whore.

I will not stoop to his level and throw at him how he slept with many women, just like he is describing me, while he had a beautiful wife and baby daughter at home waiting for him.

Therapy has taught me something in the way I interact with my father, and I’m trying my hardest to do that now. I need to stop, think, and take control, not react to his rant.

“So you should be. I’m about to throw away five hundred thousand pounds on your stupidity. I expect better from you.” Turning to look at me, he waits for my response, but he’s not about to get what he was expecting.

“No!” I walk toward him, pushing my shoulders back and feeling the rush of determination coming back into my veins.

---