Page 3 of Vengeful Seduction
When my mother had taken off on us when I was only five, life had truly sucked. It had been okay, though, eventually. I’d been able to get through it because I still had my father, and the two of us had gotten through just fine.
Maybe my mother leaving hadn’t left me entirely without scars. I didn’t trust women from that day, and though I’d had lovers and even relationships, none of them had lasted. At the age of thirty, I had no desire to marry. Why bother when whoever I married would just leave me anyway?
Everyone left me eventually, anyway.
I’d been seventeen when my father had been in the car accident that had taken him from me. It was a drunk driver. The guy had plowed into my father going at least forty miles above the speed limit. They said my dad hadn’t suffered at all and that his death would have been instant.
Then it was just me and I thought it was probably better that way. My father had started a tech company, and I had taken it over after his death. I couldn’t do much with it at first, but once I’d made it through college, that was a different story.
I didn’t need anyone. Why count on someone and then have them leave you? There was no point. I had friends, of course, but no one who I was super close to, and I liked it that way.
I would never give anyone that sort of power over me.
Never.
So that’s why I let the call from my grandfather go to voicemail each and every single time. The last time that I had seen him was at my father’s funeral, twelve years ago. It had hurt to watch him. He was basically an older version of my dad, right down to the tone of his voice and the subtle hint of humor in his dark blue eyes.
After all this time, I had no idea why he would be calling me. I kept expecting him to give up and I thought that might be best for everyone involved. He needed to not expect anything from me.
Or, maybe more to the point, I needed to not expect anything more from him. One thing I’d learned about people is that, whether they wanted to or not, they left you.
So I watched as his number flashed on my call display screen. ‘Grandpa,’ it said, as though I didn’t already know that. As though I hadn’t memorized every digit of that phone number.
And, like always, it was nothing but a reminder of what I was missing.
I’d built a life by myself. Grandpa had made himself rich with lumber, but Dad had never been happy with accepting the family fortune without doing anything to earn it. Neither had I.
Black Technology had been our answer to that, and what my dad had started, I had continued on in a way that had honestly surprised even me. The men of my family, it turned out, had a knack for business—for making money.
As I watched my phone’s lit screen, my fingers itched. What would happen if I did pick it up? By now, my grandpa must not expect that. Would it shock him to hear my voice?
That was almost a good enough reason for me to do it. Almost. There was an impish side of me that would enjoy surprising the man, but at the same time, what would happen if I did?
It was too easy to imagine. My grandpa would doubtless be shocked. There could be no way, after twelve years, that he would expect me to do it. I’d get maybe as much as ten seconds of shocked silence.
And then what?
Well, then the questions would start. The recriminations. The reminders that the old man was all I had left and that we had to stick together. My grandfather had never been the type of man to hold back when he had something to say.
The hell of it was, I would deserve it. I was the one who had cut off contact. My reasons for doing it, I thought, were sound enough. But even I knew that I could have said something—given some sort of explanation to the old man who was my only family.
He had kept in contact as much as I had let him. There had always been a card at Christmas and another at my birthday. Every year I expected him to give up, but I guess the Black men had always had a bit of a stubborn streak.
It would be nice to hear his voice.
My phone stopped buzzing, and I let out a soft sigh—a breath I hadn’t even been aware I was holding. I’d missed the chance. It was too late. Maybe this was even the last time grandpa would try to call. There had to be a last time, right? Sooner or later, he would give up.
Or …
No. The old man was immortal, like the mountains themselves. I wouldn’t think about him dying. But surely enough was enough. I’d been pushing him away for so long, and even someone as stubborn as he was had to give up at some point.
For just a moment, I had the almost overwhelming urge to call him back. To tell him …what? That I was sorry, maybe. Sorry for protecting myself. Sorry that the months kept on going by, and that each and every time he called I told myself I’d answer the next one.
Next time, maybe. If there was a next time. Lately, the urge to take the call had been getting stronger and stronger, and it nagged at me more too.
Once, it had been easy for me to glance at my screen and then go right back to work. There had been so much to do, after all. Now, the company almost ran itself, and with my thirtieth birthday coming up in a few days, I was starting to have the sense that I should accept the gestures the man kept extending to me.
My birthday.
