Page 80 of Café Diablo

I don’t know why I held onto it for so long. First, I thought I could convince Connor to return to the firm. Then, I clearly deluded myself into believing I could keep my practice without our father doing his worst.

“Me and my staff are cleaning out the office this week,” I say diplomatically. “All of Voss Associates clients are being briefed on the situation and my lawyer will be in contact with you about the details.”

“You can’t—”

“Fuck off, Dad!” I hiss into the phone. “Don’t bother to spew some bullshit to me about business not being personal. You want to build your dynasty? Go ahead!” Normally, I wouldn’t let my emotions out, but I’m tired of keeping it all bottled in. “Only, you’re going to have to build it without both of your sons.”

“Connor was no longer—”

“I don’t care anymore,” I say, gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles are throbbing. “Play King. Move all your pawns around. Tell me that this is just business as usual!” I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “The problem with your plan is you think I’m too scared to say ‘no.’”

“Actually, you’re—”

“I don’t care.”

“You’re deflecting,” he snips. “You’re afraid of what I’ll say.”

“Tell Mom she’s allowed to call me,” I chew out. “Not that she will. But you—? Anything elseyouhave to say, from now on, it has to come through my lawyer!”

“You don’t—”

I slam the phone down onto the receiver. It echoes through my office like a wild bullet, followed by a silence as big as the ocean, an abyss that threatens to collapse my lungs and crush my ribs with its size.

There are a thousand loose ends…

A hundred counter measures he could pull …

Too many pieces to pick up in order to salvage this…

One big mess I don’t want to wade through.

The clock on the wall ticks loudly, filling all the emptiness with the incessant tick tick tick of time moving.

I gasp for breath, not realizing I was holding it, sucking in hot suffocating air. My heart hammers, but the muddy air of my office manages to fill and calm me. I gasp again, and I don’t know how to explain it, but a shock of euphoria shoots to my skull and suddenly I’m laughing, laughing so loud the whole office echoes.

I’m laughing so hard because this weight inside me—all the pressure and expectations and responsibilities piled onto me by my father—they’re all suddenly gone.

And I’m free.

I’m really free.

32

Olivia

Ipaint all day.

The sun streams into my tiny house from the back window. I sit in my studio looking out at the wild untouched jungle where a thousand green leaves flutter with reflected light like emerald butterflies. It’s pure magic, filling my tiny house with a phosphorescent glow.

Edwin promised he’d come by later tonight. He had a full day ahead of him to try and unwind the web his father has spun. Will he sue his father? Start his own practice? Fly to the mainland to confront him in person? I wish there was more I could do to help, but my law services are relegated to delivering tarts—which are hot as Hades—but will only act as a momentary distraction.

Which means, I have the rest of the day to commune with my paintbrushes and muddle through all these feelings that are trapped inside my chest. The best way to deal with what cannot be articulated is through paint and color—at least for me.

Art excavates the heart.

I paint all afternoon and into the evening. The light outside the window blazes from green to pink to gold, and I haven’t stepped away from the canvass in hours. I’ve tapped into something wild and powerful. It’s like the life source of the earth is rushing up and out of me—a volcano exploding with oils and lava and color roaring onto the canvas.

Everything I think and feel—the tenderness of Edwin’s hands, the discomfort of his elite lawyer world, the way he makes me spontaneous and brash—it’s all burning out of me and filling my canvass with lines and splatters and brushstrokes that are charged with something I can’t really explain. All I know is that I’m in that fabled euphoric space of creativity.

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