He rolls his eyes before helping himself to the chair across from me. “You going to tattle on me, Princess?” I flinch, and my dad’s head quirks in response. “Are you too old for that name now?”
My lips roll against each other, and I swallow the ache that crawls up the back of my throat. “Yeah,” I croak. “I think so. Have you heard from Winter?”
I spin in my office chair and bend down to pull something—anything—out of my filing cabinet. I need a breather away from that goddamn nickname. A break from his incessant calls and texts. Leave it to Rhett Eaton to not only crush my heart but also ruin my favorite childhood dress-up game and nickname.
“No.” Dad hesitates only slightly, but it’s enough to convince me I’m not getting the full story. “You enjoying your days here without me?” he jokes, perceptive enough to change the subject.
I sigh and lift the papers in front of me, tapping them against the desk to even all the edges before slipping a paperclip over the top corner. “Honestly, Dad, not really. I like it when you’re here. You’re a total nut.” I smile and slip the sheets into the manilla folder beside me. “But you’re my nut.”
I expect him to laugh, but he steeples his fingers beneath his chin and regards me carefully, like he can’t decide what to say next, which is truly something for a man like Kip Hamilton. “You’re my nut too. But are you a happy nut?”
“Happy enough.”
I straighten things on my desk like the nervous wreck that I am. My phone chimes and even that makes me start. Rhett has been relentless for an entire week now, but I’m still giving him the silent treatment. I’m not ready to talk to him. Or maybe I’m scared to talk to him.
“You gonna answer that?”
I finally meet my father’s eyes. “No.”
“You know that happy enough isn’t actually happy enough, right?”
A sigh escapes me as I press my back into the chair, pushing my shoulders back.
“Especially since you don’t seem all that happy to me.”
I grunt. “I’m just having a day.”
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Summer. I’ve watched you your entire life. I know what you look like happy, and it isn’t how you are when you’re here. Do you know why I work so hard here? Long hours? Weekends?”
I’m out of fucks to give, so I tell him the blunt truth. “Honestly, I always figured it was to avoid having to spend time around Marina.” My stepmother isn’t a pleasant human.
Now it’s his turn to flinch. We don’t talk much about his philandering. It’s awkward, because I’m the by-product of it, and I don’t want to hear him say he regrets it. “No. I do it because I love what I do. I built this company from the ground up and worked my ass off to get Hamilton Elite to where it is today.”
“I know. And one day, you’ll be able to pass it off to me and enjoy a lavish retirement.”
“No, Summer. That was never my end game. I wanted to show you that anything was possible. That our transgressions don’t define us. I did a shitty thing, but one of the very best things in my life came out of it. Things will always be strained between Marina and I because as much as I apologize to her, I can’t bring myself to say that I regret it. Because I have you.”
Tears spring up in my eyes. “Yeah, well, I bet you didn’t know I’d be such a time suck when you signed up to keep me.”
“Summer, stop.” He leans forward, a broad hand spread out on the table between us. “If Marina or that piece of shit your sister married ever made you feel unworthy for even one moment, put it out of your mind. You are not a burden. You are not a waste of time. You are very wanted. And anyone who makes you feel you’re anything less deserves Rhett Eaton’s fist to their face. Or yours. You can hit back too, you know? I’ll bail you out every fucking time.”
A tear spills down my cheek, and I nod. “I know you will. And I want to be that for you, too. I want to be here helping you. Carrying on your legacy.”
“Summer.” His voice drops along with his shoulders. “This place isn’t my legacy. This place is where I busy my mind and body. This place is my passion. My legacy is showing you that if you pursue something you love, you’ll make it work. Blood. Sweat. Tears. And a whole lotta love. Do you feel that way about this place?”
I sniffle and blink rapidly, regarding the shiny, bright, immaculate and modern office. All I want is the smell of sweaty mats at a gym and the clanking of plates on the end of a barbell. I want open fields, crisp air, and the Rocky Mountains at the end of the horizon.
I want a man who smells like leather, looks like a glass of bourbon, and who calls me princess while drawing on my back.
I want Rhett to unsay what he said.
I want him to want me. More than he wants anything. I deserve that. He taught me that I do.
“No, I don’t. I just don’t want to let you down,” I sob, my control cracking.
Kip reaches across the desk, holding his palm up and wiggling his fingers until I place my hand in his. “Listen to me carefully, Summer. The only way you could ever disappoint me is by not living your life to the fullest. Not going after what exhilarates you. You deserve that. And you deserve someone who wants that for you.”
He wraps his fingers around my wrist as I attempt to pull away. “I’m not stupid. I know things are strained between you and Rhett after that explosion. But I also know that men don’t look at a woman the way he looks at you unless they’re out of their goddamn mind for that person. I know you’re so accustomed to pleasing everyone that you give and give until you have nothing left to give. Rhett might be a little rough around the edges, but maybe you smooth him out and he scuffs you up. I don’t know. Only you can make these decisions. But what I saw that night was a man who’d burn everything down to defend you. I saw a man who’d risk it all to take care of you.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of.”
“Maybe not. But that man wears his love for you on his sleeve for the entire world to see. And he doesn’t give a shit who sees it. He’d scream it from the mountain tops if you asked him to. It’s written all over him. And you definitely need that.”
I blow out a breath and stare up at the ceiling. Rhett loving me. It seems so unlikely. So far-fetched.
“Are you going to Vegas for the finals?”
Kip gets my attention with that comment. “Are you trying to play matchmaker again? It’s fucking annoying.”
“Well, are you?”
“Of course not. I’ll be working to make up for your old ass being laid up,” I try to joke. It’s familiar footing for us, but it comes out all watery.
The thought of Rhett chasing his third title without a soul in the stands who really knows him is a gut punch. I shouldn’t care so much, but I do. It makes more tears fall thinking of the wild boy who lost his mom, who doesn’t have the support of his family, riding injured for what could be the last time. A stadium full of strangers cheering him on, but not a single person who loves him there to witness it. No one to share it with.
“No, you won’t. Because you’re fired.”
I still and meet my father’s gaze, a sad smile playing at my lips. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”
“I’m not joking. You’re fired. You have until the end of the day to clear out your desk, and I’ll give you six weeks of severance.”
“Are you kidding?” My heart rate accelerates. He can’t be serious. “I went to law school so I could do this. So that I could be the best fit for you here.”
He pushes to stand, dusting his hands off like he’s done some great work here. “Yup. And now you’re going to go find something to do that is the best fit for you. You’re going to stop worrying about what everyone else thinks of you or wants from you. And you’re going to waltz out in the world and be selfish for once. Take what you want and stop feeling guilty about it. Take it from me, guilt will eat you alive.”
He knocks his fist on my desk and strides out of my office, tossing out, “Gotta get to my meeting,” over his shoulder.
So casual, like he didn’t just blow up my entire life to teach me some sort of tough-love lesson.
I stare at myself in the mirror, dabbing at my eyes and willing away the splotchy redness on my neck and chest. My heart is pounding so hard I can see the skin in my throat jumping every time it pumps.
It’s comforting and distracting. I’m alive, but am I really living? Or have I just been scuttling along, putting everyone else first?
I press my palm to my chest, just above the scar there to feel the organ pumping.
Did I chase off the one man other than my father who put me first? Was he out of line? Or was I so tuned out from what I want that I missed the part where we fell in love? Did I dismiss him when that’s what he was trying to tell me?
We spent weeks together. Traveling. Working out. Eating. He gave me his last chicken wing and let me warm my feet on him without complaint.