Page 9 of Southie
I moved closer to the center ring, but he kept his focus on the two men sparring, never looking at me as I approached. His enormous arms crossed over his chest after they returned to fighting. He said nothing, but he was on the warpath.
The work for my portfolio was more important to me than his photoshoot. Fighters came in and out all the time. There’d be no shortage of subjects to photograph. Not only did working on my portfolio slow me down, having to walk in a blizzard slowed me down even more. He’d just have to understand, although understanding hadn’t been a part of his vocabulary in recent months.
“Daddy…”
He tossed his hand in the air, stopping me from speaking. I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes.
Oh, so he wants to have this conversation in front of everyone.
Even though everyone had returned to what they’d been doing, eyes stayed on us.
“Milla, this is a goddamn job!” he yelled. “I don’t care if you are my daughter. You need to be on time.”
The words almost slipped from my mouth. How in the hell was this a job? I wasn’t getting paid to shoot this promotional line for him. If he’d had to pay for what I was doing, it would cost him a fortune. Even though he wasn’t hurting for money, I was doing him a favor.
I lifted my brow and was getting ready to argue my point when he turned his back to me.
“Save it! I don’t want your excuses. Get your goddamn camera so we can start. Everyone has been waiting for you. You don’t need to waste anyone else’s time. You’ve done that enough.”
I rolled my eyes and stomped to his office, slamming the black wooden door behind me so hard the frosted window inlaid in the frame rattled.
Did I care I was being childish? Hell no!
We should never handle our problems in public.
I closed my eyes, palms down on my father’s desk, inhaling and exhaling a breath to calm down. My situation with my father settled in my mind.
“Sometimes he forgets I’m all he has,” I muttered to the empty room.
The hum of the old radiator filled the silence in the medium-sized office and supplied much-needed heat. I snatched off my wet jacket, threw it over the back of the chair, and rubbed my hand down my face, trying to rid myself of my irritation. Face towards the ceiling, I closed my eyes and tried to calm my nerves before I had to approach Roland Jennings again. If I didn’t calm down, I might say something I’d regret.
When the light taps against the frosted window sounded, I turned my back to the door. I didn’t want to see him, not at least until I’d calmed down. If he came in here now, I’d do more harm to our relationship, possibly destroying it for good. I loved my father more than anything, but it was becoming too much to handle.
I’d never wanted for anything, and my parents were the reason for that. I grew up in an upscale neighborhood, had access to the best schools, and lived a life most would die for. I respected my father for who he was and what he’d done for me, but this attitude of his was pushing me past my limits of being civil with him.
Ignoring the taps on the door, I continued to calm myself before I had to deal with him.
“He’s stressed and grieving, Camilla,” I said, to myself. “Just shake it off.”
The door opened and closed.
My body tensed as I waited for him to start in on me again. Lately, I hadn’t been able to do anything right according to him, and he had no problem letting me know. Since we were in private now, it would be no different. He’d be sure to let me know how much of a burden I’d become to him.
“You all right, Camilla?” Damian’s deep timbre startled me.
I released a breath, and my shoulders sagged in relief when I realized it wasn’t my father.
A genuine smile stretched across my face when I turned around. Damian Denning was one of my father’s fighters from Roxbury. I’d met him the first day we opened the place. He also attended the same university as me, but he majored in Biology. I wouldn’t call us friends, but we hung out together sometimes at the library or between our classes if we were on the yard together. He was the only person I talked to, outside of my professors, since moving here.
“Yeah, I’m good, Damian.”
“You sure? He was kind of rough on you.”
I waved away his concern. My father was always this way with me, usually in private, though, but whatever. I was coming to grips with the new and improved Roland Jennings. I didn’t know Damian well enough to go into detail about my strained relationship with my father regardless of how much we’d hung out. If my father wanted to be a jackass for all the world to see, so be it.
“Yeah, I’m used to it.”
He frowned. I could see the questions he wanted to ask reflected in his eyes, but I spoke before he had the chance.
