“Hello?”
“Hello, Michelle. Surprised I caught you. Thought you’d be at work.” Her father’s voice boomed through the other side of the phone, and she pinched the bridge of her nose.
“I was just heading there now, Daddy.”
“Good thing. I’d hate to see this business of yours flounder due to poor staffing.”
She had to breathe extra-long through that last jab. Her father was the king of subtly dropping hints about how he thought she was a failure. Only his subtlety was not so subtle.
“My shop is doing great,” she fibbed.
Not a total lie. But a heavy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.
The last few weeks had been slow. And sure, she was getting a little worried. But there was no way she was going to tell her father she was floundering. No, not floundering. She was treading water. Things would pick up. No matter what, she could deal with it, because she was independent. At least, she was trying to be. Running home was not an option.
“Glad to hear, sweetie. You know, you can always come work for me.”
She did know. In fact, her father said those exact words twice a week ever since she’d moved to Beaufort.
“I appreciate that, but I’m doing just great on my own.”
“So, you don’t need any money? Need access to your trust?”
Deep…breath…
She’d moved out here with her savings. Hers. Money she’d worked for and earned. That hadn’t been quite enough to start her shop, so she’d taken a small business loan. Yeah, accepting her family’s money would help bring her business out of the hole. Hell, it was enough money to keep her afloat for years, even if her business didn’t make a dime. But what would that prove? Tapping into her trust would go against everything she was trying to achieve.
She was going to do this on her own or not at all.
“Thank you for the offer, Daddy, but I’m okay for money.” She grabbed her notebook and scribbled quickly, Pay the electric bill today!
“Brad has been asking about you. Coming around. He misses you, sweetie. We all do. I know you might not think this based on how fast you left him, but he’d take you back.”
She rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to go back or be taken back. She wanted to live. On her own. And accomplish something for herself. Yes, she was terrified some mornings, especially since the weight of this whole business venture rested on her skills not only as a businesswoman but as a fashion designer.
“When is this kick you’re on going to end? It’s been months,” her father said.
“This kick I’m on? You mean trying to make something of myself?”
“You did that already. I have the Vassar tuition bills still to prove it.”
And here came the guilt. Yes, her parents sent her to college, and she’d gotten a degree thanks to their money. She had no idea at the time that they were trying to turn her into a socialite with party-planning skills. But she wouldn’t be sorry for getting her B.A. in Art, and she wouldn’t be sorry now for trying.
“I just want you to come home,” her father said. “You never dealt well with failure and—”
“I’m not failing,” she said quickly.
“If you say so, sweetie.”
She closed her eyes and, keeping the tightness out of her voice, said, “I’ve got to get to work, Daddy.”
“Okay, sweetie. You just let me know when you’re ready to come home then.”
More like if I’m ever ready to come home.
She hung up the phone, flipped to the green To Do list, and added, Stand up to Daddy. She’d just dotted the last letter when a knock came at the door.
Now she was really going to be late.
She walked over, looked through the peephole, and—
“Crap,” she whispered to herself. Then looked again. “Double crap.”
It was Dex. He was standing on her stoop, in the same clothes he’d been in last night, looking a bit rough and dirty and a whole lot of sexy.
She hovered in front of the door, not sure what to do. Maybe if she stayed really quiet—
“I can hear your breathing, princess,” he said casually.
She took several steps back and knocked into the small table near her sofa. She hit her knee on the corner and barely stifled a curse as she steadied the vase that almost toppled to the ground.
“Now I hear you panicking,” he called out again.
She could hear the smug smile in his voice.
She stood up straight, ran her hands down her perfectly tailored pencil skirt, and tried to gather herself. Time to be practical. This man affected women, and even though he had “affected” her very much last night, today was a new day. She was a composed, professional woman on a mission to take control of her life.
That heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach disappeared.
Yup. She was in control.
She took a few deep breaths and opened the door.
“Good morning,” she said in her best delighted tone. As if she hadn’t just had this man buried deep inside of her less than six hours ago.