He wore an expensively tailored suit, and his short black hair was wisped with gray at the temples. His face was broad and handsome, with shrewd dark eyes and a square chin.
He seemed shorter than Zandra remembered, not the hulking monster of her childhood nightmares. But a monster he was and always would be.
When she deliberately didn’t stand to greet him, he sat without invitation and smoothly crossed his legs. His pants were meticulously pressed, and his dark Italian loafers were polished to a high gleam.
“What do you want?” Zandra asked coldly.
He gave her a chiding smile that made her skin crawl. “Now is that any way to greet your long-lost father?”
The word curdled in Zandra’s stomach. Father. What had Landis Kennedy ever known about being a father? He’d terrorized her from the day she was born until she turned sixteen and left home to live with her grandmother. The last time she’d seen him had been at her mother’s funeral ten years ago, after which she’d told him to stay the hell out of her life. Years later, she’d boycotted his lavish wedding to a widowed socialite, and when he became a city alderman, she’d tossed away the invitation to his swearing-in ceremony.
“Why are you here?”
He met her icy glare, his eyes raking over her face before he glanced away. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You look just like your mother.” It was an accusation. A bitter indictment.
Zandra swallowed hard, fighting to keep the painful memories at bay. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
His gaze swept around the tastefully furnished room before returning to hers. “First, I wanted to inform you of my decision to run for mayor of Chicago.”
Zandra leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, offering no congratulations or words of encouragement.
“Once I announce my candidacy,” he continued, “every facet of my life will come under intense scrutiny by the media and my opponents. I can’t afford to have any skeletons in my closet that could be a liability to my campaign. Which brings me to you and your—” he paused, lips thinning in distaste “—brothel.”
Zandra arched an amused brow. “You mean my escort agency?”
He smirked. “If that’s what you prefer to call it. The point is that your line of work will be a liability to my campaign once the public learns that you’re my daughter. And that’s why I’m here.” He looked her in the eye. “I want you to relocate your agency to another state.”
Zandra didn’t even blink. “No.”
He frowned. “Hear me out—”
“I don’t need to. What you’re suggesting is out of the question.”
“I’m prepared to write you a check—”
“I don’t want your damn money,” Zandra spat. “I’m not going anywhere, so you wasted your time coming here.”
Landis’s face hardened, a malicious gleam filling his eyes. “You seem to forget that I’m a member of the city council. I have friends in high places. All it would take is one phone call for the state’s attorney to launch an investigation that would put your brothel out of business.”
“Do your worst,” Zandra dared him. “I’m not worried about being investigated because I know I’m running a legitimate business.”
“Since when did peddling prostitution become legitimate?”
Zandra clenched her jaw. “You know nothing about me or my agency—”
“I know plenty.” He sneered at her. “I’ve seen you being chauffeured around town, showing up at all the ritzy parties and rubbing elbows with the rich and famous. You think those people admire you? Respect you?” He snorted contemptuously. “Everyone knows you’re nothing but a high-priced whore masquerading as an entrepreneur.”