Daddy’s Law by K.C. Crowne

Chapter 7

Ava

Iwas all over the place that day. My meeting with Theo —Mr. Phillips, excuse me very much— left me far more flustered than I had anticipated. There was just something about him. Impossibly large and commanding and devilishly handsome. He commanded the space like he owned it, walked in like it wasn’t the first time he’d been here.

But then he opened his stupid mouth and reminded me just how much of an asshole he was.

I shouldn’t have brought up his wife. I’ll admit that was a mistake on my part. I had no right trying to gain insight into his family’s business. I swore the only reason I asked was because I wanted to know how Cory was coping, if it had anything to do with her. I had the best intentions in mind.

Do not talk about my wife.

I shivered. His voice shot straight through me, knocked the breath from my lungs.

I hoped it wasn’t obvious.

It was embarrassing, knowing that he left me standing there like an idiot, uncomfortably aroused and wet. I’d never ever admit that aloud. That secret was just going to have to die with me.

And speaking of dying, Dad’s impromptu phone call beforehand made everything so much worse. He was convinced that something bad was going to happen to me. He never called, which was the only reason I picked up. I figured he had some sort of emergency, something important. As it turned out, he wanted to invite me to dinner, all while implying that I should watch my back while on my way.

The only reason I agreed to attend was to put a stop to this unnecessary paranoia. I’d give Dad a piece of my mind and get down to the bottom of things.

As for Mr. Phillips?

I hoped we never had to see each other again, because I was pretty sure he hated my guts. That, and I didn’t trust how my body might react if he ever spoke to me like that again.

I hated myself a little for it. I hated myself for liking how powerful and in control he was.

Maybe even a bit dangerous.

“Miss Cruise?”

I yelped, jumping in my seat. “Yes?”

Cory tilted his head to the side, curiously observing me. “Are you feeling okay, Miss Cruise? You’re all red and sweaty.”

“I—” I blushed furiously when my voice cracked. I cleared my throat and tried again. “It’s just warm in here, that’s all.”

“But the AC’s on.”

“Did you need something, Cory?”

“I just wanted to see how things went with Dad this morning.”

My first instinct was to say that his father was a massive jerk, but that wouldn’t have been appropriate in the slightest.

“It was… fine,” I said through a stiff smile. “He said he’d be okay with you entering the showcase.”

Cory beamed. “Oh, yay! I’ve already got a couple of ideas sketched out. Want to see?”

“Absolutely!”

* * *

The security guards posted at the front gates still recognized me even though I hadn’t come to visit Dad in almost half a year. They waved me through without radioing it in, allowing me to pull through and drive up the smooth driveway toward the front entrance.

This wasn’t my childhood home. I grew up in the suburbs, but Dad moved us out here after the divorce. Mom skipped off to Florida and Dad wanted to stay close enough to drive downtown. He chose this place because he needed to be closer to the city center for work.

It was always for work. Every decision he made —from the school I attended to the gaudy house we moved into to the expensive clothes he wore even though we couldn’t afford it— was all for the sake of his career. I supposed Dad wanted to keep up appearances, hence the ugly four-floor house in the fanciest gated community in Chicago.

Duncan Cruise lived by the motto of ‘fake it until you make it.’

And, by the looks of things, he made it. Maybe there was some truth to it, after all.

He opened the door before I was even able to ring the bell.

“You’re four minutes late,” he announced. He was dressed in a stiff black suit and ugly purple tie. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he just got back from the office.

I shrugged. “I ran into traffic.”

“Then you should have left earlier.”

“It’s great to see you, too.”

“Come in.” He glanced down at my shoes and grimaced. “Take your shoes off at the door. I don’t want you tracking any dirt in. The maid service only comes once a week now.”

There wasn’t any point in complaining. He wasn’t the kind of person you could argue with. That was probably what made him such an effective state senator. He got things done for his constituents.

The dinner table was already set, two spots arranged directly next to each other at the table’s corner. It was big enough to seat at least twelve people with plenty of elbow room to spare. The fancy china was locked away in the mahogany display cabinet to our left, and the chandelier that hung over the table wasn’t lit. It was clear we weren’t entertaining guests.

It was just us tonight. Much to my chagrin.

“Eat,” Dad instructed. “Before it gets soggy.”

I picked up my fork and stabbed at my goat cheese and beet salad. “Did you make this?”

“I don’t have time to cook. I had the chef prepare it for us.” He sniffed as if irritated, eyeing me. “If it isn’t good, I can have him make you something else. You were always such a picky eater.”

“It’s fine,” I grumbled.

“Good.” He took a big bite. For all the money and supposed class he pretended to have, Dad still had the nasty habit of chewing with his mouth open. “How’s your job at the daycare?”

I inhaled sharply through my nose. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“It hasn’t even been two minutes.”

“What are you on about?”

“I work at a school, Dad. You know this. I’m an art teacher at a private academy.”

“You take care of children, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I muttered stiffly.

Dad huffed. “Then you’re effectively a glorified daycare worker.”

I put my fork down and sighed. There was a mounting pressure behind my eyes, warning me of an oncoming migraine. “Good grief.”

“You could be so much more if only you applied yourself, sweetheart.”

“We’ve been over this a thousand times, Dad. This is what I want to do.”

“You could have gone to law school. They would have taken you with open arms. I have no idea why you’d settle for throwing paint around and calling it a day. You could—”

“What do you want?” I snapped.

“Can’t I have dinner with my daughter?”

“No. You always want something, so let’s not beat around the bush. What’s with all those text messages? Why did you call me out of the blue?”

Dad sat back in his chair, regarding me with a judgmental glare. “As you know, I’ve been campaigning to be governor.”

“Good for you,” I said dryly.

“Yes. Good for me, indeed. I’ve been working toward this my whole life.” Dad picked up his glass of red wine and took a deep drink. “People don’t care about politics like they used to.”

“Are you going to launch into your speech about apathy—”

“They’re just so apathetic,” he said, gesturing with a hand. “All that matters now is who can make the biggest promises in the flashiest of ways.”

I raised a brow. “What did you do?”

“What was necessary. I made promises of my own. Big ones. Ones that have made certain people very uncomfortable. I’ve received a number of death threats.”

I blinked, a sudden terror clawing at my throat. “Death threats?” No wonder he’s been so paranoid. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Didn’t want to concern you. I hired a security team, and they determined that the majority of them weren’t legitimate. Just assholes blowing hot air.”

“But?” I prompted, picking at my nails and willing my heart to calm down.

“I was attacked at a fundraising dinner,” Dad said simply, like it was just another day at the office. “Well. It was an attempted attack. My bodyguard took care of the assailant before anything could happen to me.”

“What? When?”

“A couple of weeks ago.”

“Why am I just hearing about this now?” I roared. I pinched the bridge of my nose, torn between crying or screaming. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t just call me up when you feel like it and tell me something like this. How am I supposed to react? What the hell am I supposed to do with this information?”

“Nothing happened,” he dismissed with ease. “There wasn’t any point in telling you because I knew you’d be all emotional about it.”

I clenched my teeth so hard my molars squeaked. I loved my father, but sometimes he was too much for me to handle. It was the same reason Mom left him all those years ago. I fully believed he loved his job more than his family. My mind swirled. Dad was being way too calm about all this.

I stood up from the table in a huff.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dad snapped. “I’m not done.”

“I am.” I brushed my fingers through my hair. “I’m glad you’re okay but telling me well after the fact isn’t how fathers and daughters are supposed to work. I’m going home. I’ve got too much on my plate helping my students learn.”

“Ava, wait. There really is something else I need to—”

I was out the front door before he could finish his sentence. I pulled my phone and called the only person I trusted enough to let loose and vent.

“Hey, girl, hey,” Cindy sang when she picked up the call. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Drinks,” I said, my throat unbearably dry. “I want to go out for drinks. Drinking.”

She giggled. “Yes, Ava, I know what drinking is. When do you want to meet?”

“When’s your shift over?”

“In an hour.”

“Meet you at Old Joe’s?”

“Ooh,” she said gravely. “Let me guess. You had a run in with your father?”

“How’d you know?”

“Ava, sweetie, I know you like the back of my hand. We only go to Old Joe’s to drink cheap fruity cocktails and stuff our faces full of burgers when you’ve had a run-in with dear old dad. It’s an eat-my-feelings-because-my-family's-dysfunctional kind of drinking, not an I-want-to-get-buzzed-and-flirt-with-men kind of drinking.”

“You really do know me.”

“I’ll meet you there. Don’t get hammered before I get there.”

“No promises,” I grumbled as I slipped into the driver’s seat of my banged-up Honda Civic.

I twisted the key in the ignition and sped off, frustrated and confused and not at all surprised Dad would pull a stunt like this. He never wanted to see me just for the sake of seeing me. It was always about him and his wants and needs. It didn’t matter that he still had something to say. I didn’t care. It would somehow be all about him and what I could do to prop him up like the good trophy daughter I was supposed to be.

It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

I got to Old Joe’s Bar and Grill well before Cindy. If I downed two margaritas before she arrived, she’d be none the wiser.