Page 137 of Tight Ends & Tiaras
I hadn’t meant to unload everything on Melvin late last night, but I wasn’t sure what to do. Since Melvin has the codes for all of my father’s properties, I thought he’d let me stay at my dad’s suite in Austin for a couple of days, just until I calmed down, to give me time to process everything. Time to pull myself together so I could talk to Ben without screaming or crying.
Melvin, who also has the security code to my house, offered to send a female assistant to get my yoga mat, some toiletries, and a couple of outfits. That’s it.
Instead, he spoke to my father about it first thing this morning, who instructed him to clear out my two bedrooms. And then my dad blew into town and tried to take over my life.
My father starts flipping through his report again. “You need a security detail.”
“No.”
“This is nonnegotiable.”
“I’ll never fly under the radar if your Men in Black crew follow me everywhere.”
“I was thinking you could take a leave of absence or finish your classes remotely from California. And if you’re back home, you could help me with the foundation.”
“I’m not leaving Texas.”
“I’ve already spoken to the dean. He says it’s not a problem. He wants a donation for the stadium renovations. It’s a win-win.”
I’m so upset, I can barely speak. When I don’t say anything because I’m trying not to lose my shit, he nods. “So it’s settled. I’ll have Melvin move the rest of your belongings and—”
“Dad, nothing is settled! I was silent because I’m trying to talk myself out of leaping across the table and beating you over the head with your stupid report.”
One of the security guys chuckles, but then coughs to cover it up. That tick in my dad’s jaw goes off again. Internally, I cringe because when this little get-together is over, that security guy will probably be fired. Melvin would be fired too for not telling my father about the break-in sooner, except he’s my dad’s oldest friend and college roommate. Not to mention Melvin is family.
My dad clears his throat. Fixes his gold cuff links. Takes a sip of his coffee. “Be reasonable, Sienna.”
“Says the man who treats me like a project he can manage.” I think about that for a second. “No, scratch that. Your projects get written up on whiteboards and studied and prioritized. I haven’t been a priority since you left Mom. If I were, I wouldn’t have found out Penelope was pregnant from Star magazine in the checkout line at the grocery store.”
No way can I tell him I found out from Melvin, but he saved me from having a seizure when I eventually saw it.
My dad has the decency to wince. “I apologize about how you found out about the pregnancy. Paparazzi followed her to her OBGYN appointment. We hadn’t planned to tell anyone yet.”
“I’m not moving back to California.”
“We could spend more time together. Hang out. Go to some Lakers games.”
“You work twelve-hour days. We’ll never hang out. And the last thing I want to do is go to a game so you can wave at the jumbotron and schmooze whatever celebrity sits next to you.”
“I’ve gotten some important endorsements that way.”
“Can I stay at your condo here or not? Because if I can’t, I have to find a hotel.”
“I’m not paying for a hotel.” Says the man who is hogging the entire patio dining area of the Four Seasons.
“I wasn’t asking you to.”
That tick in his jaw goes off again. “I won’t fund your little yoga project if you don’t come home.”
Has it really come to this? Somehow, my entire relationship with my father is one giant negotiation.
“I miss the parent who didn’t wear name-brand clothes, the guy who struggled to make ends meet. It sounds crazy, but I feel like you knew more about loving your family when we were clipping coupons.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Because you can’t take your company or your planes or your awards with you when you die. The only thing you have are the people you’ve loved and those who have loved you. And yeah, I just got my heart broken, but Dad, I let myself love. I’m not some walled-off VIP who’s only focused on my next accomplishment no matter the cost to my family.”
“Sienna...” There’s regret in his eyes, but I’m too upset to try to make him feel better.
“You should’ve saved yourself a trip to Texas and threatened me on the phone.” I swing my bag over my shoulder and stand. “Good luck with kid number four. I hope the baby learns how to code so you can show some interest in her life.”
As I walk away, he calls my name again, but I’m exhausted, and I feel really fucking defeated.
And I’m not ready to talk to the only person who might understand.
