Page 1 of Beach Bum Billion-Heiress
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Sage
"Where the hell were you?" His voice boomed across the open space between us, him behind his massive desk, me standing before him like a child at the Principal's office. I hated how my confidence, my very personality, wilted away to nothing the thicker his disapproval clouded the air.
"I told you I wasn't attending." I did not waver. To show any sign of doubt in oneself was to open the door to renewed criticism and attack.
"And I told you to be there!" His face began to creep from red to purple, one of many clues that this would not end well for me. Then again, when did these little conversations ever end with me coming out on top?
I changed tack. "It was my birthday, Father. I had plans that could not be altered." For God's sake, you'd think just for one goddamn day he could think about what his daughter wanted.
He broke eye contact, letting the frustration out in the form of a long-suffering sigh from the depths of his barrel chest. "Sage. I don't invite you to these functions as a punishment. You say you're looking for a job. Well, come meet dozens of business associates who could offer you a job at any of these events. I don't see why you fight me on this." He fiddled with his tie and checked the screen of his phone as it buzzed in his hand.
From twenty-nine years of experience, I knew now was my moment to escape. "I'm sorry to have disappointed you. I'll say yet again how I want to find a job on my own. In fact, I need to make a phone call right now. Excuse me."
I swung around to exit through the double wood doors, my steps muted by the plush carpet, only to stop short when he barked at my retreating form.
"Sage! We are not done here." His hand slammed down on his desk, startling me.
That was a new one. Normally, he muttered under his breath and I went on my merry way, flying low on the radar for a few days to avoid another one of these come-to-Jesus meetings. Before turning around, I scrambled to assess what was going on with him and how best to counter. Unfortunately, he didn't give me enough time to formulate a new plan.
"Have a seat, young lady." His phone clattered to the desk, forgotten in his quest to rip into me further.
I spun around and tried to walk calmly to the chairs in front of his antique wood desk which was covered in legal documents, probably negotiating the terms of several multi-million dollar deals that would affect hundreds, if not thousands, of people. If he wanted help with his business dealings, I could fill in for any of his high level managers. I may dress in secondhand clothing and not have a current job, but it was by choice. My intellect, schooling, and instincts were top-notch.
Too bad I had no interest in my father's business.
I flopped down into the chair, kicked my feet out in front of me, and lounged back like I was there for a casual shoot-the-shit session. I knew it would piss him off, but more than that, it was damn comfortable. I was a twenty-nine year old woman. I didn't need to sit ramrod straight anymore for fear of detention.
"Sage."
"Father."
Another sigh. "I didn't want it to come to this, but I feel I have to step in before you waste your life away with some crazy idea of what's best for you. You're almost thirty years old, Sage."
His face lost all traces of anger and without that energy to prop him up, he just looked old. And tired.
My heart dropped and my nose went tingly. That was my spidey-sense. If my nose went aquiver, it meant impending doom. It had never failed me. Not when I dated that loser in high school and I'd found a note he'd written his buddy in class about all the free shit he was getting out of dating the rich girl. Not when my father had set me up on a date with some work associate of his and I'd left through the restaurant's back door to escape the creepiness. Found out later the guy was known for getting women alone and forcing himself on them. Oh, and let's not forget the time a group of us in grad school went out for a late study dinner and I refused to eat the food because of my nose. Everybody got food poisoning that night, except for me.
So, as you can imagine, when my nose tingled, I listened.
"You're set to get your trust fund on your next birthday, but before I'll let that happen, I need you to show some initiative. Prove you can handle that financial responsibility. I never raised you to inherit a bunch of money and just piss it away. You have to spend that money wisely to make money."
He paused and I scrambled to keep up.
"Father, I don't spend money frivolously. I'm quite good at budgeting--"
"I know you don't spend a ton of money. Anyone with eyes to see you in those ratty clothes, knows that. But you've got to do better than that, Sage. I want you to use your fancy grad school education and the business contacts I've built my whole career tomakemoney."
"I know, that's why I'm looking for a job!" I knew arguing with him wouldn't make him budge, but I was like a fish out of water here. He was completely off script. Where was the yelling, followed by ignoring? This tired, sad tactic was throwing me off my game. I was finding I didn't like to see my father sad. Irritated and disappointed, I knew how to handle. But sad?
Taking a deep breath, he rose out of his chair and came around to lean on the front of the desk, his legs brushing up against mine. I swiped at my nose, the tingling kicking up a notch. His eyes never left my face, even when his phone nearly buzzed across the desk with notifications.
"I want you to handle a deal for me. Start to finish. Fly to California, buy a property I've been looking at, bulldoze it, build a restaurant and make it thrive. You do that, the trust fund is yours and so is my company when I retire."
My jaw dropped. An ultimatum?
"As much as it pains me to do it, know that I'm serious, Sage. You don't make this work, you lose the trust fund. Everything. You'll be left to figure things out without my backing. Are we clear?" He stuck his hand out, wanting me to shake on it.
