Page 130 of Crash Course
All right. She could live with that compromise. However, she wouldn’t have him cooling his jets in there for an hour simply to please her father. No. This meeting had a time limit.
A short one.
"Thank you, Cruz. It’ll only be a couple of minutes. There’s a television in my office."
She watched him walk down the long hallway to the second door on the right and turn into her office. The soft click of the door latch sounded and Cilla, already short on patience, turned back to Dad.
"What’s so important?"
"I got a call from Allison Caplin an hour ago. Apparently, she called Paul this morning, as well. I avoided her call but tracked down Paul. He claims Allison has internal documents. He also shared his conversations with you regarding minding your own goddamn business."
And wow. Over the years, they’d disagreed plenty of times. He’d hollered occasionally, but this tone? The disgusted I-loathe-you tone she’d heard him use with her mother was new to Cilla.
She cocked her head, studied his pinched lips and the resulting deep lines around his mouth. "Dad, I don’t appreciate your tone."
"I don’t care what you appreciate. What did you do?"
A lot. That’s what she did. And, although it felt dirty, slime on her skin, she didn’t regret it. She’d tried to discuss it with him and he’d lied.
In Cilla’s mind, he’d brought this on himself and she wouldn't be his punching bag.
"I’m not discussing this with you now. I’ve had a long day and you’ve barged in on my evening. We can talk tomorrow, but tonight? I’m out."
Dad, in his slick suit, perfectly groomed hair, and broad-shouldered posture, remained in his spot looking like the king he considered himself to be.
"We’ll be done when I say we’re done."
"Dad, you don’t own this condo. I say what happens in here and what doesn’t. Now, I don’t want to argue with you. I’m tired and I’ve offered to talk tomorrow. That’s all there is. Take it or leave it."
She angled around him and marched to the door, setting her hand on the lever before turning back to check on him, still rooted in his spot.
Even with the distance between them, his eyes bore into her, a look so fierce her knees nearly buckled. No way. She’d come this far, she wouldn’t cave now.
He took two steps toward her and jabbed a meaty finger. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
She let go of the lever and marched back to him, leaving an arm’s distance between them. Her father had never, not once, struck her, but based on the reddish tinge to his cheeks, his temper was about to flare.
Something she, never wanting to have that ire aimed at her, typically found a way to diffuse.
Today? Too tired. Too sick of navigating the minefield known as her father. She'd spent her life pleasing him. Trying to keep him happy and stay in his good graces.
Tired.
Really tired.
"I’m my father’s daughter," she said. "Andmy mother’s daughter."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means, Dad, I learned the hard-nosed stuff from you and doing what’s right from Mom."
Dad’s head snapped, the shock clearly hitting him. Good. Someone, finally, standing up to him.
"You did it!" he thundered. "You signed in as me and leaked those fucking documents! Goddamn you, Cilla!"
The words knocked her back a full step. After everything she’d done, all the legal advice and time lost trying to keep him and his company out of trouble, he dared to swear at her.
I’m so done.
