Page 11 of Overstaying His Welcome

“I want to keep Marten on staff,” I said slowly. “You don't have to pay him. I'll do it myself.”

“From what? Your trust fund? That’s foolish of you.”

I shook my head.

“Not when it’s someone that’s this vital to me. He literally coordinates my entire life schedule. Without him, I won't know how to do anything.”

Was I exaggerating a bit to get my point across?

Yes.

Did I care that I had to lie to my parents to keep the one person who kind of helped keep me sane every day around?

Not one bit.

My father sighed as he dug into his food more. He didn't speak for a long while, so I took a few sips of the soup as well. No need to waste perfectly good food.

Plus, the chef would be upset with me later if he found out that I wasn't eating properly. He was a mother hen as much as Roberta was.

“There is some merit to keeping a personal assistant, I guess,” he said once the first course was taken away and the second brought out. “We can leave him for a temporary basis, but he is not to stand close enough to be photographed with you. Send him home or to the car or whatever. Your campaign is about to ramp up. We do not need any kind of distractions.”

I nodded once as I bit my tongue hard enough to taste blood.

I wanted to tell him exactly what I thought of his plans. Needed to, really.

But at the same time, part of me longed for that validation I never got from him. I wanted him to tell me he was proud of me. For some reason, I had equated earning the senate seats that he had as to being the thing to do that.

I would go for mayor and then work my way up through there.

Hell, I even considered the presidency as an option at one point because if I could surpass him and bring a legacy to the Sheppard name, well, then surely he had to believe in me, right? He had to be proud.

Why I wanted a man who has failed so supremely at nearly everything I cared for was troubling.

My idea of happiness was a loving marriage, a home filled with happiness. It was being healthy and taking care of yourself and your loved ones.

My father had done none of that.

His heart attack was a direct result of his excessive eating habits and lack of physical exercise. He cheated on my mother relentlessly through the years, even going so far as to bring the mistresses into our family home in front of her.

Happiness wasn't something that was found in our home unless you counted me with the staff because that was who my real family was. I would pick them over my mother and father any day of the week.

My parents moved on to talking about different events that were coming up. While my mother threw out a word here or there, it was mostly my father doing all the talking. I was convinced that he loved to hear his own voice because the man could monologue with the best of them.

It was also how I knew he was the villain.

Good guys didn't give speeches that long unless they were on stage and being philanthropic. But my father could go on and on and on about whatever he chose to say. So long as it highlighted how amazing and wonderful he was.

I could remember when I graduated college, it took me far longer than necessary thanks to a few speed bumps along the way. When it came time at the party to congratulate me for a job well done, my father spent five minutes of his six-minute speech talking about the Sheppard family legacy and how he had contributed to it.

That other minute was to basically say “thanks son and hope you live well.”

If that didn't tell you about how I was raised, then nothing else would.

Before desserts could come out, I asked Dad one more thing circling back to the conversation we'd had before.

“Dad, can we discuss this new person more? Do you happen to have a resume for him? I'd really like to speak with him before he starts.”

Dad pulled out a folder from the briefcase he had seated beside him. I should have known the man was prepared. The man just wanted to wait me out so he could hear me ask for it.

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