Say You Still Love Me(85)

Dad frowns. “The one Tripp sent us last night. Didn’t you get—”

“No, I did not!” I snap before I can help it.

Dad gives a tight-lipped, apologetic smile to a nearby couple who glanced over at my outburst as he digs into his tuxedo jacket, fishing out his phone. “I’m sure he just wasn’t thinking,” he murmurs, scrolling through his email. “The team is going through the details right now, but Tripp’s not expecting them to find anything of concern.” He hits the keypad. “There, you should receive it shortly. Review it over the weekend and let me know what you think.”

I don’t believe it. That son of a bitch stepped right over me to go to my father—again—and my father acts as if it’s nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Maybe it’s my anger with my father over Kyle fueling me, but I find I don’t care to choose my words cautiously. “What I think,” I pause, struggling to regain my composure, “is that if I’m to earn respect in this industry, then it needs to start with you showing respect to me.”

My father frowns, and it makes his normally severe expression look downright insidious. “What are you talking about? Of course I respect you. I would never have made you point person for all of Calloway’s operations had I not thought you competent.”

“Yes, I am supposed to be point person for our current projects, freeing you up to focus on setting up the next five to twenty years for us. And yet I have been undermined by Tripp at every turn, and part of the reason is because you have allowed it.” I refuse to look away from my father. “This whole KDZ thing stinks of something, and I’m not quite sure what yet. But the proposal should have come to me. He knows it, you know it, and yet you didn’t bat an eye at the idea that he can’t show me enough decency to even copy me on the email. It’s a two-hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar construction contract, not an invitation to a goddamn corporate barbecue.”

Dad opens his mouth, but I cut him off.

“I may still have a lot to learn, but I can’t do that if you allow guys like Tripp to treat me like a token figure, like I’m optional. This ends right here, right now, or there is no point in me continuing on in this role.” Adrenaline is racing through my veins as I brace myself for whatever verbal missile my dad is about to launch at me.

Dad sighs heavily. “You’re right.”

“I . . .” I frown, replaying those words to make sure I understood them. “I’m sorry . . . what?”

“You’re right. I just thought . . .” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what I thought. I guess I keep making excuses for Tripp. For years, he reported directly in to me, so I assumed it was just habit. But, even if it is, it isn’t right.” His jaw tenses. “I will make sure to remind him of the new chain of command when I see him next.”

I study him intently, and with confusion.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” he finally asks, irritation in his voice.

“No reason. I’ve just always wondered, when aliens abduct a human, do they undress them before infecting the host body or were you still wearing your suit?”

Dad shakes his head but chuckles. Sliding his arm around my waist, he pulls me into him in a quick fatherly embrace that he hasn’t given me since the night he announced my promotion and future succession.

For a moment, I forget that I’m furious with him.

For a moment, I forget how he broke my sixteen-year-old heart. If I try hard enough, I could probably convince myself that he did it with the best of intentions.

But the road to hell is paved with good intentions, my gramps always said. He had that quote printed and framed on the wall in the living room, above the piano. Mom said he hung it the day my parents announced they were getting married. Gran insisted that was mere coincidence, but the thing about Gramps was, he never cared for wealth and nothing was ever mere coincidence.

As soon as Dad releases me from his grip, I slip my hand into my clutch to check my phone. Eight fifty. Kyle is working for another two hours.

“What? Do you have other plans for tonight?”

“We’ve paid our five grand a plate and mingled long enough for people to know we were here.”

“Right. I suppose you’re off the— Oh, before you go,” he calls out to a man passing by. “Lloyd?”

The man stops and turns, his gray eyes shifting from my father to me—to linger one, two, three beats before shifting back. “Kieran, it’s good to see you again.” I’d put him in his late thirties, with sandy-brown hair that’s dusted with gray around the temples. He’s attractive in a classic way, with a strong nose and a square jaw.

My dad gestures to me, as if presenting a prize display. “Have you met my daughter, Piper?”

I stifle my groan as I realize his intentions.

Lloyd’s eyes are back on me. “I haven’t, but I’ve heard wonderful things. Hello. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He smiles and holds out his hand.

I plaster a polite smile on my face and accept it.

“Lloyd is a named partner at Sternum and Oakley.”

“Really . . .” I feign interest, though it is interesting that my father would be trying to set me up with our law firm’s main competitor. “So you are . . .”

“The breastbone.” Lloyd flashes a bright, easy smile and then winks. “You wouldn’t believe the number of jokes I’ve endured.”