Crazy about Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3(34)

“Thank you.”

“As you know, I prefer for guests to make appointments before dropping into my office.”

“I’m not a guest. I’m your daughter.”

He narrowed his eyes, sitting back in his chair. “A fact not lost on me.”

“And yet I feel certain it has been lost on you,” she said.

“Now, you listen here, young miss. I—”

“No, Father,” she said, with all the conviction she could muster, though she trembled inside, “you listen. I am your daughter. Not a guest. Not just an employee. Your daughter.”

“A well-established point.”

“You should treat me like one.”

He shook his head, huffing impatiently. “What is this?”

“It’s me standing up for myself.”

“You sound like Alice.”

“I admire Alice. I love her. You forced her into an untenable position.”

“Untenable!” he thundered. “I gave her a job here!”

“As an administrative assistant!” boomed Margaret, leaning forward. “She should have been your right hand! A manager! A vice president! She has an MBA, Father!”

“I know. I paid for it,” he said. “Damned waste of time.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re girls!” he exclaimed. “You’ll meet a man, and then what? Stay home and have babies, just like your mother. What’s the point of an MBA?”

“Maybe we don’t want to have babies! Maybe we don’t want to be mothers!”

Her father’s eyes widened in shock. “Is that true?”

It wasn’t. Not even a little bit. Her longing for children was a daily ache.

“That’s not the point. We’re all capable of more than being secretaries at the company started by our grandfather and saved by our mother’s money!”

Her father sat back in his chair as though struck, staring at Margaret in disbelief and fury. His voice was low with rage when he said, “You forget yourself, Margaret Anne.”

“No, sir. I think I’m finally remembering myself.”

“Get out,” he snarled. “You’re no better than your sister.”

“I take that as a compliment,” she said softly as tears leaped to her eyes.

His reddened face, so angry, made her frightened, made her pause.

“Father,” she started, working to keep her voice even and gentle, “all I’ve ever wanted was to please you. But you had no right to tell Shane that I would marry him. I won’t. I can’t. I’m not in love with Shane.”

“If you had any interest in pleasing me, girl,” he sneered, “then you would know that marrying Shane and having some strong Story sons would have been the ticket. If that doesn’t appeal to your useless sensibilities about”—he sniffed derisively—“love, we have nothing further to discuss.”

“Father—”

“You’re excused,” he said, pinning her with a disgusted look before picking up his phone and dialing. “Yes, I need a security guard sent up immediately to escort Miss Story from the premises. She no longer works for Story Imports, and I would prefer to avoid a scene like the one precipitated by my other daughter.”

Her breaking heart snapped as she stood up from her chair. She stared at her father with a fury that matched his own.

“You will regret this,” she promised him softly, her tears drying up suddenly as a coldness infused her whole body. “When you’re old and gray and alone, you will regret that you forced your daughters to hate you.”

“My cross to bear,” he said, then leveled his eyes at her, taunting her with his words. “Recall, will you, Margaret, that your trust is, and has always been, under the purview of your parents until the event of their demise, and, your dear mother’s passing aside, I am still very much—”

“Are you threatening my—”

A security guard knocked once on the open door, then stood awkwardly in the doorway. Margaret glanced at him, then looked back at her father.

“—alive. Now, get out.” He tented his fingers under his chin. “Your escort has arrived.”

“Do I mean nothing to you?”

His face didn’t crack as he stared back at her. “Good day, Margaret,” he said, then turned his attention entirely to his computer screen.

Margaret pivoted and allowed herself to be escorted from the premises of Story Imports.

***

“Barrett!” said Cameron, waving to his friend, Alex English’s oldest brother, from across the dining room of the Penn Club taproom.

He watched the sandy-haired man weave his way to the reserved table and shook his hand heartily once he’d arrived, gesturing for Barrett to take a seat.

“Good to see you, Cam,” said Barrett with a nod. “All good?”

“Can’t complain. How’s Emily?”

Barrett grinned upon hearing his new bride’s name. “She’s fine. Tell me, when are you taking the plunge?”

Cameron chuckled. “No imminent plans.”

“Did I hear the wedding’s been moved?”

Cameron nodded, sitting back down in his chair. “Winterhaven canceled the contract a few weeks ago. Bastards.”