Page 54 of Fake Dating My Billionaire Boss

My heart’s twisted and tired and perhaps slightly bruised, thanks to the fact that I found a gift from my mother, and it was stolen from me, but it still wants to paint.

My dad sounds somber when he speaks up. “I guess I’ll start with the day she found it. Those papers that you and Fizzy discovered, I mean. The water rights. You see, your mother volunteered for that Historical Society in town. A bunch of people did, including some of her friends, and she liked the social scene. She worked shifts at the museum, manning the desk, once or twice a month. Because it wasn’t just the social part she liked, it was all that old stuff…”

“Yeah. I remember going there a few times with her, and she was sort of enthralled by all of it.”

“Exactly. Enthralled. She loved to pour over the recipes and sort through the photos and read old homesteader journals. And one day—it was June—she came home from one of those museum shifts in a tizzy. Said she’d found something in a pile of old papers that had been hauled in and donated, from the community center basement.”

A zap of nervous energy courses through me. In an attempt to channel the energy, I poke my brush back into the sky blue on my palette. The paint on the brush is an uneven mixture—paler on one side than the other. When I pass it over the canvas, the brush strokes have a striped look to them.

My father clears his throat. “Well, we sat up late that night trying to figure out what she’d found. Clearly, it had to do with my grandparents, Theodore and Elsa. The best we could figure was that when they bought their ten acres, they also came into possession of the Silver Spring. At that point, bothmy grandparents had passed on, and the land belonged to my parents… your Nana and Pop Pop.”

“Right. So, did Nana and Pop Pop own Silver Spring?”

“That’s what your mother wanted to know. She figured there had been some sort of mix-up, and she said we’d better try to straighten it out. That spring’s a valuable water source. The Knights were using it to produce soda and getting richer and richer by the day. The Knights also owned the parcel of land right next door. The creek that feeds the spring runs through both parcels. It made sense to start by talking to the Knights to try to sort the whole thing out. That night, we decided that’s what she’d do.”

He hesitates.

When he starts in again, there’s a nervous edge to his usually mellow tone. “Well, she went to work the next day, and so did I. She planned to visit with the Knights during her lunch break. She was running her dance studio at the time.”

“Okay, so a lunch meeting type thing. Did you go with her?”

“No. I wish I had. That’s one thing I regret. Your mother was friendly by nature. Had a heart of gold. If I’d been there, maybe I could’ve been the ‘bitter’ to her ‘sweet’, if you know what I mean. But as it was, she went in all sweetness and friendliness, no edge. She was just… Sophia. My sweet Sophia. Some folks said she was too innocent for her own good. Naive, or whatnot. I think she was perfect. But I do wish I was there…”

“Dad, back up. What happened at that lunch meeting with the Knights?” “Your mother visited with the Knights. This was Hank and Minerva. Big shots in town, mind you. Very well-to-do, very intimidating. They owned the soda factory and already they were employing half the town. Your poor mother… They all sat in some hoity-toity parlor. I can’t even imagine how much nerve it probably took her to bring it up. But she did. She told Hank and Minerva that she’d discovered documents thatpointed to the fact that the Silver Spring actually belonged to the Sinclairs, not the Knights. She said she had proof, and she asked if they’d help her make the situation right. But instead of cooperating, do you know what Hank and Minerva Knight did?” I gulp.

“What?”

“They threatened her. Innocent, sweet Sophia. They said if she dared pursue the matter, she’d ‘pay dearly.’ And then they kicked her out.”

A vision of Minerva bubbles up in my mind's eye. I can see her poking the blunt end of her cane at me.“Hand it over. Or else.”

I know how unnerving it can be, to get threatened by Minerva Knight.

Hank, her late husband, must have been just as imposing and frightening.

“I can’t believe this,” I murmur.

“Believe it, sweet pea. Those two threatened your mother and booted her to the sidewalk. That night she was in tears. Beside herself. She took the threat to heart. You see, Hank had a reputation. He took care of business, no matter what. There were rumors he’d run a fellow off the road intentionally, for trying to muck up a contract. The man got away with only a broken leg, and you can bet that the contract worked out in Hank’s favor in the end. That was how he was. Cut-throat. And Minerva was always in the background, doing her part to protect the family fortune.”

And now that Hank’s gone, she’s not merely his support crew anymore,I think, as dip my brush into the white paint at the edge of my palette. As if on autopilot, I let my hand guide the white-tipped brush across the top center of the canvas, to create a bright white shooting star.

“So, you guys hightailed it. Like you said.”

“Exactly. Your mother was so shaken up by her encounter with the Knights. And while we were discussing the matter, she swore she saw a shadow cross our lawn. I don’t know if that was her imagination, or if she really saw movement out there, but either way, we both agreed. Pursuing ownership of the spring wasn’t worth the risk of falling victim to Hanks’s mischief. Or Minerva’s. Furthermore, staying in town wasn’t worth the risk. What if they tried to run our car off the road—even just to scare us? We hadyouto consider. Keeping you safe. So, we packed what we could and left that very night.”

A fleeting memory of stuffing a pile of shorts and t-shirts into a duffel bag races across my mind. “Yeah, I remember that.”

“And once we reached California, Sophia insisted that we put the whole thing behind us.”

“But… she didn’t.” When I blink, I see her handwriting, etched on the back of my eyelids. “She returned to Silver Springs and hid the deed, clearly hoping someone would send it to me. I’m guessing she didn’t want you to feel responsible, but she wanted me to have it when the time was right. You know how Mom believed in fate and all that. Do you think she wanted me to go after the spring?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that one.” My dad sounds exhausted. Deflated. Sad.

Talking about mom makes him like this, sometimes. It hasn’t been all that long since she left us. Seven years is nothing in the big scheme of things. In moments like this, it feels like we buried her yesterday.

“I’m sorry to bring all this up,” I tell him, as I set aside my brush and pick up the phone. I carry it to the black leather couch facing the big-screen TV and plop down. With my legs crossed, I stare down at the screen. ‘Dad’ is printed across a backdrop of black, along with a little phone in a green circle.

My dad, Jack, is sort of a hero to me. He taught me that life’s full of little precious moments, and it’s important not to let them slip by.

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