Page 90 of Bad for Business
I stare at him for a moment, not knowing what to say. The thought has crossed my mind on multiple occasions, but I was scared to admit I might need outside help. But knowing Dad went and talked with a therapist makes me wonder if it’s time I do too. I don’t hate who I’ve become as much as I used to, but I don’t think talking through everything with someone would hurt.
“Yeah,” I respond. “Maybe I’ll do that.”
Dad nods and looks around the kitchen. He lets out a long sigh as the heaviness of our conversation lingers between us. I don’t know how long we sit in silence, but we both let each other sit with our thoughts.
Finally, he clears his throat and breaks the silence. “It’s good to be back here. In this house. Surrounded by her. I didn’t realize I was avoiding this place until now.”
“I actually thought the same thing at the beginning of the summer.”
“She loved this house. So much. I see her everywhere.”
I smile, looking around as memories of Mom flood my mind.
“Remember the time when a bird accidentally flew into the kitchen?” I ask, letting out a loud laugh as the mental picture pops into my mind as clear as day.
Dad chuckles. “Oh my God, she screamed so loud I thought something terrible had happened. I remember running from the room so fast, thinking I was about to find something horrible in the kitchen.”
“Just her running around with a dish towel trying to scare an innocent bird right out of the house.”
We both laugh before drifting into a comfortable silence.
“We had some really good times here,” Dad notes.
I nod, looking around the house and thinking back on all the memories that were made here. “I’m glad so many were with her.”
“Me too, son. Me too. She really was an incredible woman.”
I drag a hand over my mouth as I nod once again. She really was the best. I realize that for the first time in a long time, the memories of her aren’t so bittersweet. I still miss her. I’ll always miss her. But now, thinking about her doesn’t just bring pain. I feel lucky enough to have had the time I did get with her.
“So, want to tell me more about Camille Vaughn?” Dad asks.
FORTY-SIX
CAMILLE
My dad hasn’t saida word to me in over an hour.
It was silent when we both climbed into the back of the SUV that picked us up from the Davenport house.
It was silent the entire ride to the airport.
It stayed quiet as we sat at our gate, waiting for our plane to board.
I’ve always been too scared to talk to Dad when he’s quiet. If he’s quiet, it’s bad. It means his anger is so far gone that he doesn’t even deem you important enough to have a conversation with.
That used to be okay with me, but something in me has changed. I don’t want to walk on eggshells around him the way I used to.
“Dad,” I say, my gaze pinned on him as I sit across from him at the gate.
He doesn’t look at me. Instead, he stares at his phone as if whatever is on there is far more important than his daughter trying to get his attention.
“Dad,” I repeat, my voice getting tighter. I know he’s mad at me, and he has a reason to be. But if he was insistent onme coming with him, then he’s going to have to at least have a conversation with me.
When his angry glare meets mine, I try not to react. I’m not going to back down from him. Not this time. Not anymore.
“I’m sorry,” I say, wanting to get the apology out before he decides to ignore me. “I didn’t mean to disappoint you. I met Ryker before this summer and we had a bit of history. It started out professional. It remained professional for a long time. I tried fighting the feelings, knowing he was my client, but eventually, I just couldn’t.” My words stay strong and confident until the very end. The last sentence comes out quieter than the rest.
“I’ve always only had one fucking rule, Camille. You don’t get involved with a client. Especially not a client as high-profile as Ryker Davenport.”
