One Bossy Offer (113)

If I weren’t a raging dick, I’d be there in person.

I’d congratulate Jenn on turning the place around, proving her abilities beyond her wildest dreams.

But I won’t be there.

Not after the way I ran her out of my life.

I’m here with this crushing darkness that has no answers, and it’s what I deserve.

I set the phone down and pick up the brush again.

Coloring the building only gets me so far, and soon I’m slipping past the neat lines of walls and sky, my focus tripping over my frustrations.

“Goddamn,” I mutter.

It’s not what I want to be painting.

Stabbing the brush back through the water, I dip it in a white oval on the palette.

The woman lying in the garden wears a fluffy white dress. I add some blue, layering tiny dots over the fluffy dress. They’re tiny diamonds, I decide, immaculately sewn into the dress.

They’ll make her sparkle beautifully when she stands, though she’d do that anyway.

I know what I’m doing.

My next strokes add rust brown—auburn—around her head like a halo of hair.

Fuck, so much for losing my woes on the canvas.

Why did I ever push her away?

Her words from that day come back to me like a drill to my skull.

“You’ll never speak to me again.”

The memory alone leaves my heart roadkill.

I’m about to push the canvas on the floor when the door to my office swings open and Benson walks in. He looks at me intently.

“Put it away.”

I look up, startled at his gruffness. “What, the painting?”

He folds his arms in front of his chest. “Do you see anything else on your desk?”

“No. I’m just working on—”

“What you’re doing is straining yourself. Put it away and focus on the real issue.”

“I didn’t know you volunteered to be my shrink,” I snap, stabbing the brush in the water anyway.

I move the painting to the sideboard, stand, and begin cleaning up the paints and brushes.

“Happy? While you’re here, why don’t you enlighten me on what you think the 'real issue' is. If you’re here, there’s no one in Pinnacle Pointe making sure Jenn’s okay if Simone strikes.”

“No need. She’s already hitting you where it hurts, sir,” he says confidently.

I turn, gritting my teeth, wishing that weren’t the bitter fucking truth.

“The inn is doing well. I’m sure you’ve seen the news?” he asks.

“I read. That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

“The dogs are as rambunctious as ever.” His knowing smile reminds me how well he reads my mind.

Deep down, Benson knows I care about Jenn and her overgrown monsters, whether or not I ask.

“Glad to hear it, but I didn’t ask about those barking noodles. What if—”

“What if, sir? What is it you’re worried about Simone doing if she’s no longer on your payroll or in your life?”

That’s a heavy question. I don’t know the answer.

“You’re just driving yourself crazy with worry,” he says.

“Wrong. The lawyers are doing a fine job of that all on their own. Plus, those visits with Dad...” I don’t say more.

I had to fight like hell to be there with my attorney while the first of many court-appointed specialists raked him over the coals.

My old man didn’t even realize what he was answering, or why.

Did you know Ava Wickes? Can you explain your past relationship, Mr. Cromwell?

What about Jillian Oakes? Surely, you remember her?

Both times, he turned to look at me with the same rheumy eyes, like he’s waiting for me to hand him the right answers.

Both times, he answered yes.

And then he told them about neighbors and friends of my mother’s I barely remember, confusing them with his accusers.

“It isn’t fair, Benson,” I snarl, turning and resting my hand on my desk. “I screamed at Truman today, wondering how long they’ll keep at it. I almost wonder if they’re on Simone’s payroll. Any normal shrink could spend an hour with the man and deem him unfit for a courtroom.”

Benson’s face pulls tight with sympathy.

I’m not looking for pity, and I don’t need an answer.

I just wish this shit was happening to me, and not my father, whatever he did or didn’t do.

“The woman is vindictive. Insane. But that’s partly why I’m here. I’m not the best person to look after Miss Landers for you,” he says.

I stare at him.

“Why not?” He’s rarely bucked me over the years when he’s paid well to be loyal.

“She won’t speak to me, for one. I even tried to let her know I wasn’t just reporting back to you. She said she didn’t want anything to do with you or anyone associated with you.”

“Damn.” I can picture Jenn warning him off, her eyes still glinting with the anger and heartbreak I put there.

I really have shit everything up beyond repair.

“Is Paul Bunyan still around?” I try not to sound pissed.

Benson shrugs. “Somewhat. Mostly during the day, working at repairs in places that won’t bother the guests. Frankly, I might feel better if he was around more often so she has an extra set of eyes.”