Page 30 of This Bitter Sweet Temptation
When the world told him otherwise—when it didn’t fall to its knees worshipping his bland creations—he turned bitter.
Drugs in his younger years. Gambling and get-rich-quick schemes. The bottle ramped up later, from what I know, and that’s what keeps him prisoner.
His art never took off. His addictions did.
When Leonidas figured out he was funding bad habits and a rotten attitude. When the man he once loved like a son started lying to his face, he cut him off cold.
Another reason I don’t like the thought of Cleo drinking at all.
Nothing wrong with a glass of wine or two, but sometimes that reckless itch lives in the genes. It’s far too easy to ride that slippery slope into hell.
Deathly hard to claw your way out.
Throw in Gordon’s appalling business sense, and you have a world-class failson. And from what I know, a shitty father, too.
Whenever I worry about falling short with Kit, I remember how bad it can be.
At least I care.
At least I’m in her life, building her dreams on my sweat. My only bad days are the ones where she doesn’t smile.
I never got the impression Gordon cared what his daughter did. He was probably relieved when the old man would take her off his back for the summer or a long spring break.
“You worked for PopPop for so long, so I don’t need to tell you,” Cleo says flatly. “You know about it. All the ugly secrets, I’m sure. Dad’s just mad I had a line in the will and he didn’t. He’ll come around asking any day now. I don’t know what to say.”
“Say nothing. You don’t owe him,” I growl before I can catch myself. “Sorry. It’s your business, Miss Blackthorn, and your grandfather meant it to stay that way. I’m sure you’ll tell your old man whatever you think he should know.”
Ideally, not a damn word more.
“I wish it was that easy. I’ll—” She breaks off, frowning, staring into her mug. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just… I never expected to inherit so much. I know I shouldn’t, but I feel a little guilty, knowing they never got along. Gramps didn’t have much luck with reconciling later in life.”
“He didn’t,” I say darkly. “And that’s not your fault. You’re not your father. You’re not responsible for the relationships Leonidas wanted, either. His life’s done, mistakes and all. Yours is still being written.”
“I guess you’re right.” She eyes me slowly. “But you’ll help me? Even with the appraisal stuff?”
“Just try and get rid of me, woman. You’ll need a crowbar and a lot more habaneros ruining my food this time,” I tell her.
She smiles.
I think she picks up what I’m putting down. The duration of this arrangement is in her hands.
The old man’s letter was crystal clear about my commitment.
“Like you say, the first thing we need to do is figure out whether it’s worth anything. If it’s a fake, then you’re off the hook.”
Shit, I hadn’t thought of that.
Hell, if itisa forgery, it’s not like the value crashes to zero, though. I’m no jeweler, but I’d be surprised if all the rocks and gold on that thing are fake. Leonidas would’ve known that years ago and junked it.
Also, I might be a coldhearted workhorse, but I don’t want to see her disappointed if her grand treasure becomes fool’s gold.
“Should be easy enough to get started,” I say. “Leonidas didn’t just leave me instructions. He also left a list of dealers, experts, and other contacts in the art world. We’ll start there. Someone will have the expertise we need.”
Her smile widens with very adult determination.
“Awesome. Let’s go find this egg a worthy nest to call home.”
5
