Page 33 of Parker
That night, seeing my father in bed with another woman was the last treachery I could deal with. He put everyone before me, every time. I was never the focus of his attention. Never felt important enough to count.
The night it happened, the night my father died, I’d been working in the bar since six in the evening, a tough night with many unfamiliar faces. One man had laid himself across the counter to talk to me. The reek of alcohol on his breath mademy stomach churn. He reached over and stroked my breasts suggestively. I had batted his hand away and screamed at him to fuck off.
My manager, after hearing the commotion, came to see what the issue was. The situation was straightforward in my eyes. A customer had violated me. He needed to leave.
With a shake of his head, my boss told me not to wear such a low-cut top if I didn’t want attention. It was my responsibility to ensure I wasn’t encouraging the punters to act poorly.
If I was attracting male attention I didn’t want, he told me to take a long, hard look at myself in the mirror because it didn’t match the vibe I was giving off.
Easy meatwas the phrase the conceited asshole used to describe me.Gagging for it.
In his eyes, it wasn’t the man’s problem. It was mine.
Returning to the house that night and seeing my father’s betrayal of my mother had been the final straw. I’d released years of buried hurt and shame. Something inside me snapped.
That night, I’d truly understood what betrayal was, and I’m still working out if love can undo it.
Chapter fourteen
Parker Fashion House, Glasgow
11th June 2012
Joel
It’s ten o’clock, and my old man hasn’t arrived yet. He’s making me sweat, keeping me waiting in his office like an errant schoolboy.
As I pace across the floor, I run through my speech again. The likelihood of being able to talk myself out of this predicament is minuscule, not that I have ever been able to out-debate him.
At the end of the table, Ebony sits with her legs crossed, one hand resting on her tablet, the other holding a pen she hasn’t used. As head of PR, she is technically here to manage optics, but she isn’t taking notes. She’s watching me.
She’s known me since we were kids. Knew Eliza, too. If anyone understands the stakes of this handover, it's her. And if her coolstare was anything to go by, she doesn’t approve of how I played it.
My father enters his office and strolls around the heavy wooden desk to his leather wingback chair. His eyes never leave mine from the moment he arrives. Disgust emanates from him. He says nothing. He doesn’t need to.
“Father.” He holds up his hand to quiet me, a mountain of a man. Even now, he is intimidating, especially to me. He belies his seventy years with a good physique, a sharp tongue, and intelligent wit. No one screws over Evander Parker.
“My son,” he sneers, dropping his hands onto the desk in front of him. “If that’s what you are. Since when do the family’s needs rank below your cock in your priorities?” His hostility radiates from him. He’s beyond furious. He’s cyclonic.
“Father.” My voice is meek. I hate the effect he has on me. I regress to a small boy, terrified of his mentor, feeling the need to explain myself, to justify my actions and opinions.
He stands and runs his hand through his close-cropped gray hair. My habits are identical to his when I’m frustrated or anxious. The realization depresses me. I want to be nothing like him. He tenses his square jaw. His irate eyes silence me again, daring me to speak. I stay mute.
Ebony taps away on her tablet. Fuck knows why, we’ve barely spoken.
“Don’tFatherme,” he snarls. “Your actions this weekend have brought great shame to us. It was your duty to be at the cathedral on Saturday. The consequences of your selfishness will resonate for years in both our business and personal lives.”
“I couldn’t marry her,” I bark, losing the little control I have. The last thing I want to do is betray or disappoint my father. I’ve spent my whole life trying to avoid that look. “Love is a necessity in my life, but perhaps you don’t understand.”
“I don’t understand!” he bellows. “Joel, your mother and I have a marriage built on agreement. A financial deal that benefited both families. Just because I don’t love the woman I’m married to,” he considers his words, “doesn’t mean I’ve been without love. My pleasure has been enjoyed in the shadows.”
My brow creases in confusion. Realization hits me hard between the eyes. Feeling idiotic, I fall into the chair opposite him. He lives a double life. The one that we see, and another of his own design. That is not the life I want.
Memories flood back, times when women I didn’t know visited the house. Or when the door to his office would be locked, only to open and a disheveled staff member walked out. As a child, it made no sense. As an adult, I chose not to look.
“Are you going to allow me to explain?” I ask, knowing he won’t.
“No.” He raises his eyebrows in a challenge. “I don’t require your explanation. It will never be good enough. Now leave until I decide what to do with you.”
