Page 232 of Off Limits: The Firsts

Dekker

1 week later

He’s ignoring me.

Plain ignoring me.

Chase, Lennox, and Brexton are all out pursuing new clients, and I’m sitting here trying to figure out why he keeps getting up and shutting his door every time a phone call comes in.

Is it the doctor? Isn’t that how this all started to begin with? My dad asking me to accomplish something and all of us in a panic that something was wrong with him?

I glance at my dad through the glass window of the conference room, but his back is to me as he talks to whoever has called him this time.

And it’s not like phone calls are uncommon. That’s all we do in here—talk and talk and talk some more.

So why am I on the defensive without him saying a word? Why am I panicked to talk to him and desperate to as well?

It’s because he knows. It’s because I failed him and his request. Sure, the status reports were cute and my sisters and I went back and forth with our facetious comments, but I failed to bring Hunter to the firm and now he’s trying to figure out something else to keep this place afloat.

Overthink much, Dekk?

Jesus.

I blow out a breath and walk to the door, my hand ready to knock when he opens it.

“You got a sec?” I ask when he just stares at me. He looks frazzled. Hair mussed from his hands running through it, and cheeks flushed.

“What do you need? I’m kind of in the middle of something,” he says, striding back to his desk and shuffling through his papers.

“Dad?”

“Hmm?” he says, completely preoccupied. “I have an appointment. They should be here any moment.”

“Dad,” I say more firmly.

His head comes up and sees me for what I think is the first time. “Sorry. Yes.” He stops shuffling. “What is it?”

I shift my feet and stress over asking the question, a grown woman reduced to feeling like a little girl who’s about to disappoint her father. “It’s been a week since they won the Cup. Why haven’t you asked me about Hunter’s status on switching agents?”

Especially since you know I go home to him most nights.

He stares at me with an intensity that unnerves me. “I need you to sit down a moment.”

“It’s not a big deal. Forget I asked. I can see that you’re busy.”

I’m practically walking back toward my desk when he says, “Sit.”

So, of course, I do.

He takes his own seat, his eyes flicking over my shoulder to where our receptionist Marge is speaking to someone, presumably his client.

“How do you think the Jacks won the Cup?”

What?

“The best team won?” I sound uncertain, even though I know my statement is true. The Jacks were the best team in the Cup. They peaked at the right time and the distractions and outside noise faded away. “This isn’t about the Jacks. This is about Hunter and how I failed you.”

His laugh is a low chuckle. He knows more than I do. “I’ll ask you the question again. How did they win the Cup?”