Page 14 of The Client
My father put a terrified, naked woman in my bed.
“Get out of my bed and get dressed,” I bark, stalking out of the room.
Slamming the door closed behind me, I race back down the steps, hoping to catch my dad, but he’s nowhere to be found. Checking outside, I see his car is gone. That mother—
I call and he answers on the second ring.
“NO. You are taking it back,” I tell him.
“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. I picked her out just for you. Isn’t she a dead ringer for someone we both know?”
That’s when it hits me. Jesus. She did look a little like Celine.
“You can’t replace a woman like a bottle of scotch,” I grind out.
“Sure you can. Now go on and enjoy! The taste I had was extra sweet. You can thank me later.”
“I—”
But the line has already gone dead, and he doesn’t answer when I immediately call back.
What the hell was he thinking? Ever since he eloped with Celine, he’s gone to idiotic lengths to try to win back my favor—apparently not realizing that he was never in my favor to begin with. I’ve never labored under the delusion that my father is a good, decent man. The only emotions he has ever stirred in me are anger, disappointment, and frustration.
My grandfather, on the other hand, was always there for me. Unlike my father, Grandpa would show up to my baseball games to cheer me on alongside my mom, have me over for dinner on the nights Mom had to work late. He’d constantly ask me about school and my plans for the future, and he kept tabs on my report cards. He even wrote me a recommendation letter for business school. Looking back, I can’t help but think he was preparing me to take over McConnell Enterprises all along—if not because he saw something exceptional in me, then because he saw something deficient in my father.
Thankfully, I won the mom lottery. My mother knows what it means to show up, and she was always there for me with a comforting word or a helping hand. She tried to shield me from my father’s lies and self-indulgences when I was young, but as I grew older, she stopped making up excuses for him. By the time they divorced, I was already firmly rooted on her side. She was the only sense of stability, of home, that I had ever known.
Which is precisely why I have no plans to let my father into my good graces so he can try to take control of the family business. He’s not trying to win me over because he wants a father-son relationship. He’s after my rung on the corporate ladder. The position that he was passed over for because he’s not the right man for the job.
And now he’s dragged some poor woman into his manipulations.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I take a breath before going back upstairs. The door swings open to reveal her standing there, fully dressed now. Dark leggings, a tight black T-shirt. The plainness of her clothes only seems to highlight her extraordinary features. I have to admit, now that the anger is no longer clouding my vision: she really is beautiful.
“Look at me.” Walking closer to her, I slip my hands into my front pockets. “I want to see your face.”
She does as I ask but doesn’t quite meet my eyes. Although her jaw is more delicate, her nose less upturned, her chin shaped differently, she does have Celine’s look. The long blonde hair, silky and fine; the wide blue eyes under arched, natural brows; the high cheekbones, the wide mouth, the plush lips that are damn near identical. Dad certainly knows how to pick them.
Where did he find her? My cock twitches but I shove the instinct away. I don’t need my father or anyone else delivering a fuck toy to my door.
Making a slow circle around her, I feel her nervous energy as I assess her tight, lean body. She’s a bit fuller in the hip than Celine, and her breasts are bigger. The longer that I look at her, the angrier I become. As if I would want a woman to remind me of the one who committed the ultimate betrayal?
After my father married my girlfriend, I spent many nights, many months’ worth of nights, lying awake at three a.m. thinking of how I’d get revenge, of how I’d make him pay. Make both of them pay. Not physical harm, of course. No. I merely wanted to impact their lives the way they’d impacted mine. Blindside them. Devastate them. Pull the figurative rug out from under their feet and leave them on their asses, blinking and shattered and confused.
The thing about time, though, is that it really does heal all wounds. Not perfectly, not completely, but enough to cure my burning need for vengeance.
I won’t forgive them, and I’ll never forget, but I’ve put the events of that year behind me. He and Celine are welcome to live happily ever after. Ideally as far away as possible.
Unfortunately, my father just can’t stop ripping open those old wounds and dragging me down, as if he never wants me to forget that the only woman I’ve ever loved is now his wife.
My cock jerks again, making my pants uncomfortably tight. God, am I fourteen again? What is it about this girl that’s turning me on so much? That she’s a fresh, young stranger, or that she looks so similar to the woman I almost proposed to? Maybe I should have left her naked in my bed. I could be fucking her right now.
I step back and study her again. The height. The full, soft lips. Those sky-high cheekbones and her perfect bone structure. Of course. She’s another model that my father plucked from some afterparty somewhere. The man has a type.
Her throat moves as she swallows. I can imagine the feel of the skin there, so delicate and vulnerable under my grip. Tempted to palm her neck and curl my fingers around the smooth column, I look away and shake my head, smiling humorlessly. Ah, the darkness that bastard of a father brings out in me. But I can’t touch her. Because I don’t fuck for mutual pleasure. I fuck for myself. I’d probably break her in half.
There’s something equally timid, yet strong about her. Her body might be soft and pliable, but what about her mind?
Her will?
