Page 5 of Lucas
How the hell am I going to convince Valeur to throw Gant a bone and share the Pearl Garden bounty with us? It’ll be a cold day in hell before that notorious shark willingly lets us pick from his plate.
My cell phone rings, jolting me from my spiraling thoughts. I take a deep breath to steady myself before answering. “Valeur got the Pearl Garden bid,” I say.
“I know,” Father replies.
“They’ll never agree to work with us.”
Father swears under his breath. “Are you going to stand there and admit defeat or get your ass over to Valeur’s office and make him an offer he can’t refuse? Gant Construction needs this project, Ava. Your legacy depends on it.Mylegacy. I will not allow that Valeur prick to dance on our graves.”
“How? How am I supposed to convince him?” I pace across my office.
“By any means necessary. Jesus, Ava, do I have to spell it out for you?”
I freeze mid-step as the penny drops with a sickening clang. “Wait... You can’t possibly mean...”
“Come on, you’re a smart girl. Or at least you're supposed to be. You possess certain...attributes, my dear. I suggest you employ them.”
Bile surges up my throat, and I swallow hard. “But...I can’t?—”
“It's common knowledge that Valeur has a penchant for youthful, shall we say, less cerebral companions. He goes through them with alarming frequency. A batted eyelash here, a hint of leg there. If necessary, offer him a more...intimateexperience. Whatever it takes to get him to sign on the dotted line.”
I squeeze my eyes shut against the onslaught of tears. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. My own father, pimping me out like a cheap whore. Was that always his plan?
“I don’t... I could never?—”
“Never say never, Ava. Remember, Gants always play to win. No matter what it takes.” He hangs up, leaving me listening to dead air. The phone slips from my numb fingers and clatters onto my desk.
Peter Valeur has to be pushing sixty, the same age as Father. He can’t possibly expect me to...
The realization makes me physically ill. I grab the trash can beside the couch and dry heave, nothing coming up but an endless cycle of gasping sobs that leave me wrecked.
An old memory surfaces, hitting me like a punch to the gut.
I’m six years old, staring down at the shiny red bicycle lying on its side in the grass, blood oozing from my skinned knees. Father told me not to come home until I learned to ride it.
“Gants never quit,” he said before walking away, leaving me alone in the empty park.
I pick up the bike with shaky hands and try again, wobbling and weaving as I struggle to keep my balance. I go a few feet before toppling over once more, this time landing hard on my arm.
Searing pain shoots through my shoulder, and I burst into tears, cradling my injured arm close to my body. But no one comes.
Slowly, painfully, I pick myself up off the pavement and limp my way back home, tears streaming down my face.
“Father?” I whimper as I stumble through the front door. “I hurt my arm.”
He takes one look at my tear-stained face and sneers in disgust.
“Jesus, Ava, stop blubbering. I don’t have time for this. Only babies cry,” he snaps. “Let me see it.”
I extend my arm, biting my lip to keep from crying out as fresh agony stabs through me. It’s bent at a funny angle.
“Goddammit. Now I have to waste my whole day taking you to the hospital. I can’t believe how useless you are. It’s riding a damn bike. How hard is that? Pathetic.”
I sniffle and wipe my face with the back of my hand. It’s no different now, is it? I’ve never had a choice when it comes to what Father expects from me. He’s made it clear once again. I do whatever it takes to succeed. To win. Even if I lose my dignity, and my self-respect.
My wants, my needs...they’ve never factored in. And they still don’t.
I have to be the one to save us. To save Gant Construction. To make Father proud.
