Page 67 of The Client
“What?” I say, unable to keep from smiling back.
“I think I need to bake you cakes more often,” she says.
25
RHYS
My father’sdeadline is up, and I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of the receipts that my grandfather requested from him. It’s not surprising in the least, but it does mean that I’ll have to go chasing the financial documentation down, which I’m not looking forward to. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dad hasn’t even started gathering up all the paperwork we need.
I’m nothing if not fair, so I give him until after the lunch hour. By two p.m., any last shred of optimism I had about those receipts materializing on my desk has disappeared.
Knowing that he probably has a laundry list of excuses prepared, I don’t bother dialing his extension to ask his assistant, Kaia, if Dad is busy right now. Instead, I just walk down the hall, give Kaia a polite nod, and push open the heavy glass door of Dad’s office.
He’s hunched over his desk, eyes glued to his computer screen, but his head pops up instantly when I walk inside.
“You can’t just barge in here—”
“Where are the receipts and expense reports that Reginald asked for?” I interrupt. “It’s been a week.”
“Those were duetoday?” he says innocently, as if I can’t see through his bullshit.
“I’m not leaving this office until you turn everything over. I don’t care how long it takes.”
“Rhys, come on. The old man wasn’t serious about all that,” Dad scoffs. “He was just playing the hard-ass to try to get me in line. Besides, I’m sure he’s forgotten all about it by now. He’s practically senile.”
“He’s not, and if you don’t comply, there will be consequences.”
“God, you turned out to be a suck-up,” he says, shaking his head. “The way you grovel and kiss his ass. It’s pathetic.”
“If you can’t get the documents together, I can have security keep you company while I go through your files myself. We’ve got records of all the charges from AmEx, so I’ll call every number of every vendor on that list if I have to. They’ll be more than happy to provide itemized receipts to us if they’re threatened with a charge dispute.”
Something calculating flashes in his eyes. He’s up to something.
He gets up from his desk, gestures me toward a chair, and then closes the door.
“Look, Rhys. You’ve gotta let this go. It’ll blow over, kiddo. Trust me.”
I bristle at the nickname he knows I can’t stand. “The documents,” I say flatly. “Now.”
“I’m sorry you missed the party, by the way. Wasn’t the same without you there.”
Is he seriously trying to distract me by changing the subject to his damn birthday party? While, per usual, completely ignoring the fact that it was my birthday as well? My irritation doubles by the second, and I let myself get sidetracked.
“You knew damn well I wasn’t going.”
He sighs and sinks back into his desk chair. “I was really looking forward to seeing your little friend again. I assume she made sure you were taken care of for your special day?”
The lewd undertone in his words inflames my anger.
Pulling out my phone and scrolling through my contacts until I find the direct line for building security, I say, “Should I wait while you get that documentation sorted, or do you want to do this the hard way? I’ve got security right here in my contacts.”
He laughs. “No need.”
Pulling open the bottom drawer of his desk, he takes out a leather portfolio and unsnaps it. He withdraws a few sheets of paper and several receipts, some photographs, and other paperwork that I can’t ascertain from my vantage point.
“I was trying to protect you,” he’s saying as he continues digging around.
My scalp tingles. “Protect me from what?”
