Page 10 of Sassy Surrogate
All I can do is shake my head. It’s scary how well she knows. Definitely too well for comfort some days. Rebecca’s been with me since the very beginning, right through the hell of my divorce and the aftermath, always steadfast and loyal by my side. It’s also a private joke between me and Graham that I’m the better boss to work for, since she quit two days after starting at Morgan Financial Holdings citing Graham being an asshole as her reason for leaving.
I head for my desk, Rebecca not far behind me, a cup of coffee in hand. We go over all the important things before she goes back to her own office.
“Oh, before I forget.” She pauses at the door. “I’m out of the office for lunch today. Would you like me to organise you something before I leave?”
Already engrossed in a document I’ve been waiting for, I shake my head distractedly, not really hearing the words. Just hoping I’m giving the correct response.
The morning rushes by in a blur. Before I know it, it’s one thirty, and I’m starving.
“Rebecca,” I call out. Silence. “Rebecca?” I call again. Still nothing. Where is the blasted woman? Going into her office, I find it empty, and there’s a piece of paper with my name on it in the middle of her desk.
Knowing you, you never heard a word I said about going out to lunch. So, I’m leaving this here for you to remind you. I’ll be gone roughly an hour. You said you didn’t want me to organise anything for you to eat, but if you get hungry and change your mind, there’s a coffee shop downstairs. Isabel at reception can order you something from there. See you at two thirty. B.
Yeah, she definitely knows me too well. Damn it. And it looks like I’ll have to forage for my own food. I could ask Isabel to order something for me from the new coffee shop Rebecca spoke about, but suddenly a need to get out of the office comes over me, so I decide to go down and check it out for myself.
6
Danica
His words make absolutely no sense. “What the hell has your cat got to do with any of this? And what possible benefit is there to threatening to kill you cat?”
Confusion creases my father’s face. “They know she means the world to me.”
“Regardless of how much a pet means to you, Dad, I still see no benefit whatsoever to them killing her.”
He shakes his head, still looking somewhat confused. “I have no idea what you’re banging on about pets for, but killing Cat would do me in.”
My body goes rock solid and ice cold at his words. All I can do is stare at him like he’s just sprouted a second head out of his shoulder. Do his words mean what I’m now thinking they mean? And if so, how did he get her tied up in this clusterfuck he created for himself? As I continue to stare wordlessly at the man who helped create me, he shifts nervously from foot to foot.
“Don’t look at me like that, girly. Please,” he whines.
The words break me out of my stupor. “To clarify, are you referring to mymotherwhen you speak of ‘your Cat’?”
He nods. “Yes, your mother. My Catriona.”
I see red at his words. “She is not now, nor will she ever be, youranythingever again. You threw that right away the same day you lost the privilege to call me Pookie. Jesus,” I scream at him.
I spin away from him, clutching the knife to my chest as I fight against an intense urge to simply plunge it deep into his chest and rid the world of his foul presence. My mind is in chaos as I try to process this new, fresh hell this jackass has brought to my door.
Whirling back at a sudden thought, I ask, “How did they know about Mom? She’s no longer a part of your life, so how is she even on their radar?”
The spineless bastard can’t even look me in the eye. “I might have mentioned you guys a time or two.”
“What the hell?You guys? So, not only have you dragged my mother into your shitshow, but me too?” I glare daggers at him, wishing with all my might he was nothing of mine, least of all my father. “What right did you–doyou have to drag Mom and me into the sleazy world you choose to slither around in?”
“Please, girly. I need your help to get out of this. They want their money.”
Clearly, he sees no wrong with what he’s done. And therein lies the crux of the problem. He never has. No matter how many times he’s screwed up, it’s never his fault. I grit my teeth, wanting no part of this. But my mother is in danger, so I’m in it regardless of how I feel.
“How much?”
“Well, you see–”
“How. Fucking. Much?” I all but shout, cutting him off harshly. “I am not interested in your long sob story. I just want to know how much. That’s all.” I slice a hand through the air to emphasise my point. He tugs at his collar. Clears his throat. Looks anywhere but at me. “I will not ask again. How. Much?”
“Now see, that’s–”
“For the love of God, old man, how much fucking money do you owe these criminals? If you don’t tell me right this second, I am kicking your lying, stupid, sorry ass out, and you can figure it out on your own,” I say between gritted teeth.
