“Harold. Please reschedule,” he said calmly, knowing full well that Harold was right—his ass was grass as far as Gambofini was concerned, having been told no less than two dozen times that if he screwed up again, he’d personally work to see Matt disbarred. Of course, Gambofini threatened that each time Matt was before him, so he wasn’t really too worried, at least not this time. He was more worried about Ben, actually, because Ben usually made good on his threats to kick his ass.
Nevertheless, Matt had more important matters on hand at the moment. He changed into a pair of Levi’s, a white cotton button down, and his black ostrich boots that matched his belt, put his cell and pager on his dresser, and left his penthouse. In the garage, he put the top down on his Jag and shoved some Maui Jims on his face. It was a gorgeous day, and if he was going to go search the Highland Lakes area for one royally pissed off Miss Texas just so she could hand his head to him on a platter, he was at least going to enjoy the drive out.
When the phone rang, Rebecca was wearing a cut-off T-shirt and jean shorts over a two piece bathing suit, and had just fought off a horde of bees she had inadvertently discovered in the old barn she had decided to convert into an art studio . . . depending on how things looked once she got all the junk out.
“Hello?” she said breathlessly, using the cordless handset to swat at one last attacking bee as she backed out of the barn.
“Bec? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, Dad,” she grunted, swatting one last time as pulled the barn door shut. “Just cleaning out the barn. So what’s up?”
“Does something have to be up for me to talk to my daughter?”
Honestly, that’s what she preferred, and in general, didn’t most people have a purpose when they phoned? “Of course not. But you usually don’t call just to discuss the weather.”
“So have you heard from your mom?” he asked, and Rebecca suppressed a groan. “Not in a couple of weeks. She was talking about going to Chicago to work on a project for the Heart Association fundraising drive. Maybe she went.” Dad made a sound of disapproval. “She’s been really busy,” Rebecca added in her mom’s defense.
“Oh, yeah? Well, she wasn’t too busy to box up the flowers I sent her and return them to me dead.”
Rebecca lifted her brows in surprise. “She did that?” she asked, incredulous.
Dad muttered something she couldn’t quite catch, and then, “Where’s Grayson?”
“He’s with Jo Lynn.”
“Figures. By the way, I heard from your ex today.”
That got her attention. Why would Bud call Dad? She had heard from her ex three days ago, and that was enough to last a lifetime. “You’re weak, Rebecca,” he’d offered out of nowhere. “You quit in the middle of Tom’s campaign like a kid and left him in a bind. What the hell is the matter with you?”
“Why in the hell did he call you?” she asked, perturbed.
“To tell me that you quit what’s-his-name’s campaign. Right in the middle of it, he said. Just up and left them in a bind. Is that true?”
“Sort of,” she said slowly. “So what did you say?”
“I told him to mind his own goddamn business. What do you think I said? I don’t know who the hell he thinks he is, but he’s got some balls to call me up and say anything about you, that’s for damn sure!”
With a smile, Rebecca sank onto the broad stump of an oak that had been chopped down years ago. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Don’t thank me—I’ve always hated that bastard. Why’d you quit, anyway?”
She sighed. “I wasn’t working in the direction that the, ah . . . the senior member of the team wanted to go. And it became apparent that we didn’t see eye to eye, so I thought it was best if I just took what I had learned and moved on.”
Dad didn’t say anything for a moment. “Did you leave them in a bind?”
“Well . . . a little one, I guess. I was planning a big fundraising event—”
“Bud mentioned it. A statewide affair with entertainment and lots of big names, right?”
“Yes,” she said, perplexed that Bud was calling Dad with all this information. “What is Bud’s problem, anyway?”
“I don’t know. Said this guy is a good friend of his. Sounded like the guy was pressuring him and I guess Bud’s embarrassed. He ought to be embarrassed he’s a Democrat. Nevertheless, Rebecca, did I not teach you anything?” he asked. “Like not giving up when you’ve given someone your word? Your word is your bond, and if you don’t honor it, what have you got?”
God, she was tired of her father. He was so quick to judge, so quick to criticize, without even knowing what had happened. Rebecca looked up at the tops of the blackjack oaks, realized she had finally reached the point where she just didn’t want to hear it anymore and was finally willing to say so. “Dad? Could you, just once, call and ask how I am doing without lecturing me? I honor my word. I did what I could for Tom, but in the end, it wasn’t what they needed—”