Page 141 of Bridesmaid By Chance
“I don’t know, man, I sent it to the lawyers and they’re combing through everything right now. It’s not looking good.”
“Have you spoken to Haisley?”
“No.”
“Is he claiming rights over her business?”
“She’s not mentioned, just us. And I think if this is correct, if he really has rights to everything we’ve created using the funds, that includes him having rights over the things we invested in with the Cane brothers.”
“Fuck,” I say again. “There’s no way. There’s no fucking way. We had our lawyers go through it all. We had them comb the documents to make sure we were doing everything correctly.”
“They must have missed something,” Hardy says, sounding just as lost as I feel in this moment.How? We paid them to be thorough, to look at every fucking thing to do with our trust funds.“Fuck, dude, I feel sick.”
And that’s Hardy.
He feels sick and I feel…mad.
Enraged.
How. Did. They. Miss. This?
I’m ready to blow a goddamn gasket.
“When are you going to hear back from the lawyers?”
“They said to give them forty-eight hours. They don’t want to miss anything.”
“Okay,” I say as I pace the living room. “Forty-eight hours then. Call me if you hear more.” I hang up the phone and throw it at the couch while shouting, “Fuck!”
Thrumming with anger, I grab the bottle of scotch that’s on the dry bar and I head out to the terrace, where I sit on one of the chairs and stare out at the crisp night while undoing the cap. I lift the bottle to my lips and take a long, full swig.
How can a father be so cruel? So vindictive? So fucking awful?
Why even have kids if you’re going to treat them like this? If you’re going to act like your children are your enemies rather than people to be proud of, people you can love and cherish and help grow in life?
Why the fuck have them?
I take another swig and lean my head back.
How could this happen? Everything we worked for, everything we’ve done, just snatched up, into the hands of the man who wants nothing more than to see our demise. To be able to point and laugh in our faces and tell us he told us so. That we are not good enough. That we are a disappointment. That we will never live up to his standards and expectations. That he willalwayswin. Against us.
I take another swig.
And another swig.
And then one more just as the curtains from the living room blow with the wind, out into the terrace, revealing Sloane, standing there, looking so goddamn beautiful, all sleep rumpled and in my shirt.
“Are you…are you okay?” she asks, looking tentative, scared.
I don’t want her to be scared around me.
I don’t want her to ever feel uncomfortable around me.
Never.
I set the bottle down and hold my hand out to her. She walks up to me,takes it, and I pull her down on my lap where she faces me and straddles my legs. I rest my hands on her waist and lean my head back, staring at her beautiful face.
Her hands smooth up my chest and she quietly asks, “What’s going on? Why are you drinking at three in the morning?”
