Page 118 of Wild Hit
Dad’s face whips toward me but he says nothing, and Henry resumes spewing bullshit out of his pie hole.
“I did it for your own sake. To protect you from the vultures around you, like that gold digger from a backwater country you call your husband.”
My fists tighten and now I really regret being so far, because I can’t introduce them to Henry’s face. Heat spreads across mychest and my face, and for the first time I don’t give a shit about how terrible that makes me look.
“Don’t you dare insult Miguel. Your whole damn self doesn’t even compare to his pinky toe.”
“See?” Henry looks at my dad while pointing at me. “This is what happens when you don’t keep a tight rein. Now your estate is going to fall into the hands of that overpaid clown.”
“Is that all you care about?” Henry and I snap our focus to my father. He pushes away from the desk and rises slowly to face the other jerk. “All your concerns seem to be around my daughter’s inheritance and not about her. Shouldn’t you, as a man who professes to have loved her since your youth, be more worried aboutherthan her riches?”
I choke.
Henry steps further in the manure. “Of course I want to protect her! That’s why I’m doing all of this. With this, we can have the marriage annulled and?—”
“And then what? What would happen after that?” I ask, still coughing.
Henry’s eyes flash with every disgusting thought in his sick brain, and for the first time I realize that this isn’t just about putting his grubby hands on whatever Dad intends to pass down to me, but also on me.
Like maybe the fact that he couldn’t stop himself from coming onto me while I was in mourning was more about me than money. That he desired me even when I was just a teenage girl and he was already an adult.
Bile rises up my throat. I manage to keep it down somehow. “I’m not yours, Henry. Never have been, and never will be.”
“Then are you his?” He makes a disgusted face, like we’re talking about the different consistencies of poop instead. “Did you already give yourself to him like a filthy?—”
“Enough!” my dad screams loud enough for his voice to echo against the marble walls.
Still shaking with anger, I lift my chin and say, “No, I am my own, and what I do is none of your damn business.”
“That’s right,” Dad says, and that’s even more shocking than him screaming. “There is absolutely no way in hell I’ll give you my daughter after all of this has been revealed.”
“What?” Henry takes a step back, his good rich guy façade finally crumbling before the older man. “But I just—We made a deal, Charlie.”
“Mr. Cox for you, and when did we sign a damn contract?” Dad asks, the same brand of sarcasm as mine dripping from his words. “I just wanted my daughter to be set up comfortably for life. I thought you’d be a good candidate for that, but clearly I was wrong about that. And about many other things in my life.”
My jaw unhinges.
Behind my back, I reach for one arm to pinch my skin. The jolt of pain tells me that I am, indeed, not dreaming.
“But you approved of me,” Henry says, echoing the same language Dad used that set me off on this strange path. “You didn’t approve of that Machado clown or whatever.Me. I was your chosen candidate.”
“Who said I didn’t approve of Machado?” Dad gives out his villain Santa laugh, the one that comes out every time he nabs a deal and smashes his competition. “I’m the one who negotiated his trade into our team, because I heard Audrey say that he was probably the best player of this generation.”
“What?” I’m not sure I even finish the sentence before a memory slams into the forefront of my mind.
Last year, after our season ended as early as usual, Dad sat in for a PR meeting that I was leading. It was all about how we should turn the team’s image around not just for fans, but also to attract top talent.
“Who knows?” I said dryly, not quite believing myself enough to be firm. “We might even be able to acquire someone of Miguel Machado’s caliber, who’s the best player of our generation.”
I stumble backward until my back hits the closed door. My heart is about to explode. My legs itch. I wish I could run—just freaking teleport right next to Miguel and wrap myself around him to make sure that he’s real, that he has been existing in my life for the past five months. That my sarcastic wishful thinking really came true.
And more importantly, so I can stop hiding my all consuming feelings for him.
“I even introduced them myself,” Dad says, probably referring to the fancy party where Miguel and I danced for the first time, not knowing that Miguel was wearing makeup to hide the black eye I had already introduced myself with. “That’s how much I approved of him.”
Henry snaps and yells back. “Then why did you bring me here?”
“Because I didn’t imagine that they’d get together. I was just trying to make my daughter happy,” Dad admits.
