Page 55 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
“You deserve respect at all times,” I repeat the mantra of my youth to him but this time with a tinge of sarcasm. The years of conditioning have me wanting to cower from the glare in his eyes, but I do my best to hold my own.
I can fall apart when I’m alone. I can let go of my emotions. But not right now. Right now I have to be the same strong woman who left and walked out of the life she was told to live.
“Your insolence is—”
“Getty?” Liam narrows his brow when he notices my father—a stranger dressed in slacks and a dress shirt—standing just inside the door. “Everything okay?”
“Sorry.” I nod my head with dread in my heart that my father is going to unleash his pompous self on my boss. “I was just coming with the limes.” I hold them up to show him the proof.
“Okay. You sure?”
I know he can feel the tension in the air, see the contempt on both of our faces. But I try to reassure him by meeting his gaze, and the look I’m giving him to convey just leave it prompts him to nod his head and return to the bar without another word.
“I have to get to work.”
“Actually you don’t. You have obligations to fulfill and a husband to tend to and—”
“Ex-husband.”
“Casters don’t get divorced, Gertrude.”
I shift my feet. Sigh audibly. Sweat mists down my back and my body vibrates in anger as we start the same argument we had days before I left. I try to head it off at the pass. “Why are you here?”
He startles his head like the answer’s so obvious and I’m an idiot for asking—clearly I should be thanking him for coming to my rescue from this low-class life—and when I don’t, his annoyance presents itself in the lift of one eyebrow. “To have you collect your things and bring you back home. Where you belong. Beside Ethan. As a part of the community.”
Walk back into the lion’s den? No thanks.
“No.” Mentally I cringe and wait for the wrath of Damon Caster to come at me full-fledged. No one stands up to him, let alone his only child.
“You’re being ridiculous and immature.” His voice is low and even, but his jaw ticks in irritation. “I’ll make reservations for dinner tomorrow night. My car will pick you up at five and we will come to some sort of agreement on how to end this ridiculous charade of yours. Figure out a good explanation for your extended absence and I’ll bring you home with minimal exposure.”
Always worried about what people think. I sigh. “And if I don’t go?”
“You will be there or life might become difficult for you here on this island.” Our eyes meet and hold, his threat loud and clear, his thumb pressing back down on me after less than ten minutes in his presence. Gritting my teeth is the only reaction I give him before skirting past him and out of the storage room.
But I don’t head to the bar. Instead I make a right turn and head straight into the ladies’ bathroom and shut the door behind me, make sure it’s locked, and lean my back against it. Nerves and anger give way to the adrenaline-laced anxiety. My legs turn to rubber, and my frantic breaths make me dizzy before it all crashes down around me. I don’t recognize the ragged sob that slips from my mouth as I slowly slide my shoulders down until I’m sitting on the tiled floor.
And that says a lot—that I’m sitting on this germ-ridden floor—but the complete onslaught of emotion overwhelms me.
Am I surprised he found me? No. But I’d expected to have more time before he did. And it’s silly really, because more time wouldn’t do anything to fix this situation. The letter I left for him, never mind the way that I left, should have been enough in itself to prove to him that I’m done living that life. Done being demeaned and ridiculed and thought of as a twisted dowry to keep the business intact.
I left to create a life with passion and creativity or so I could try something new without fear of mistakes. To live day to day without caring about social status or if I’ll disgrace the family name by his outdated standards.
I hate that the minute I saw him my knees began to buckle and I wanted to run the other way. But I am relieved that I didn’t. I showed that I’m not the same “yes, Father” woman I used to be, so fearful of the consequences of disobedience. Yet I’m furious with myself because I wasn’t yet one hundred percent the woman I want to be: saying no, asserting my will, walking away without worrying I hurt his feelings because he’s still my dad.
And deep down some part of me wishes—hope against hope—that he might wake up from his self-appointed power trip and accept me for me. Love me for me.
I swipe my tears away knowing there’s no chance in hell of that happening. He is who he is and is not going to change. Accepting that is the hard part.
At least he came by himself. Left Ethan—his puppet—home to run his empire.
Aware I need this job desperately, I shove up off the ground and square my shoulders. It’s a start, Getty. Tomorrow night you won’t be blindsided and will handle him better.
The little voice in the back of my head says I don’t have to go to dinner with him at all if I don’t want to.
Maybe I’ll just listen to her.
Chapter 16
