“Kim thinks if we give Lisa a big payout, we’re admitting that we’re at fault.”
“No, you’re not. The police cleared you.”
“So if we did go to trial, we’d have a chance.”
“Don’t do it. I’m serious. My brother got sued back in Oz—the lawyers were ruthless. I mean, who knows what shit could come out at trial?”
Jeff looked at his hulking friend and his eyes narrowed. “Why do you care so much?”
“I don’t. . . . But you’ll feel a lot better if you compensate Lisa and Ronni for their pain and suffering.” Graham checked his watch and stood. “And the sooner you do, the sooner you can get back to what’s important. Like my RFP.” He sauntered out of Jeff’s office.
Jeff chuckled and turned back to his work, but the brief disruption had made it hard to focus. His mind returned to Ronni and Lisa and the lawsuit. Graham had a point. The best way to get Lisa to leave them alone was to throw money at her. He could sell his boat. It just sat there in the marina costing him dough for most of the year. He’d add that money to the pot and sweeten Lisa’s deal. Kim would have to go along, now that she knew about the champagne, now that she knew he’d asked the girls to cover for him. Maybe she was already on board? It was hard to know, since they’d basically stopped talking to each other.
His phone rang. It was the new receptionist, Tara. She’d been with them for only a month, but she seemed to be working out okay. The job wasn’t exactly challenging. He picked up the receiver and Tara’s voice came through the phone. “Your daughter’s here.”
Hannah was there? She should be in school. And it would take her at least an hour to get to Palo Alto via transit. Something must be wrong. . . . He stood up, smashing his thighs into the top of his desk, shaking his computer, his coffee cup, and his pen holder in his haste. “I’ll be right out.”
When Jeff entered the lobby, he didn’t see his daughter. The waiting area was empty but for a petite young woman in a skirt and heels, her head bent over a magazine. He turned to Tara. “Uh . . . you said my daughter was here?” Maybe Tara had summoned the wrong person? Maybe she wasn’t working out as well as he’d thought.
“She’s right there,” Tara said, clearly bemused.
The young woman in the waiting area looked up from her magazine. Her long hair swept back to reveal her face. She wasn’t a woman; she was a girl. Fuck.
“Hi, Daddy.”
Jeff’s heart was hammering in his chest as Lauren stood and smiled. She was in a fitted skirt, a short top that grazed its waistband, and sky-high heels. Her makeup was dark and impeccable. She looked twenty-one at least. He reminded himself that she wasn’t; she was sixteen.
“Hi.”
He had to get her out of here. Jeff rushed toward her and grabbed her arm. Pulling her toward the office doors, he whispered, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I needed to see you,” Lauren said.
“You can’t just show up here,” he growled, pushing open the glass doors and leading her through them. As they hurried toward the elevator, Jeff was sure Tara was watching them. He knew it didn’t look right. And even if the new receptionist bought that Lauren was his daughter, there were plenty of people on staff who had met Hannah. He stabbed the elevator down button multiple times.
Mercifully, the elevator was empty when it arrived. He pressed the button for the parking garage and prayed no one would get on. He remembered the last time they were in an elevator together, riding up to Lauren’s dad’s apartment after the accident. He remembered the tense silence and the smell of vomit. She’d been a stranger to him then. It seemed like months ago and minutes ago.
“I tried to text you but you blocked me,” Lauren said. She stood in the back corner of the elevator, leaning against the walls. For the first time, he noticed her glassy eyes and unsteady balance. The girl was fucked-up on something. Great.
Instinctively, he took her to his car. As they peeled out of the underground parking garage, he had no idea where they were going, but a moving target was harder to shoot. When they were on the open road, she said, “Where are you taking me?”
“I’m taking you home.”
“No fucking way. I’m not going home.”
“I’ll take you back to school then.”
She laughed. “Yeah? Are you going to take my hand and drag me inside? That wouldn’t look weird at all.”
She had him there. “What the fuck do you want from me, Lauren?” He hadn’t meant to yell, but he did. The girl didn’t respond. Jeff tore his eyes away from the road and looked over at her. She was crying quietly.
“I love you. . . .”
Jesus Christ. He couldn’t deal with a delusional, wasted teenager and drive his car at the same time. He still hadn’t used the Tesla’s autopilot function (despite his affinity for technology, he still felt his brain and reflexes were superior), and now was definitely not the time to start. He took a right and steered the car down a commercial side street. Traffic was sparse in this area, but still, he hunched down in his seat. When he deemed them a safe distance from his office, he pulled into a Staples. He stopped in a deserted corner of its massive parking lot and turned off the car.
Jeff faced forward, staring through the windshield at the depressing expanse of gray retail park. Someone had abandoned a shopping cart within his frame of view, and a white plastic bag had attached itself to the wheels. A small breeze caught the bag, tugging at it and twisting it, but it was hopelessly stuck there. Jeff kept his eyes forward and spoke slowly. “What the fuck are you talking about, Lauren?”
“I love you,” she sniveled.
“You don’t love me. You don’t even know me.”
She placed her hand on his knee. “We have a connection, you know we do. Don’t try and pretend we don’t.”
Jeff looked down at her hand, small, pretty . . . a child’s hand. He turned and looked at her then. “We don’t have a connection. You’re a kid. You’re my daughter’s friend. You’re nothing to me.” He tossed the hand off his leg like it was a piece of burning garbage.
He may as well have slapped her. She covered her face with her hands and cried into them. He knew he was being harsh and he didn’t enjoy it, but pitying her was what had gotten him into this mess. Damn that fucking ice cream. . . . Damn that fucking ride home. . . .
“I should just kill myself,” she mumbled through tears and fingers.
It was a cry for attention, yet another manipulation, but Jeff felt a twinge of something. “Don’t say that.” She was just a screwed-up kid. That night in his car, she’d told him that no one loved her, no one cared about her. He didn’t want to push her over the edge. He pulled a tissue out of his pants pocket and handed it to her. “Here”—she took it—“pull yourself together.”