He didn’t want to answer. She wouldn’t like it, not at first anyway. . . . He changed the subject. “What did you say to Hannah?”
“Nothing.” She stared out the front window. Her voice was defensive, whiny, sixteen. “We were talking about Kim’s breakdown and I asked how you were holding up. She kind of freaked.”
“You must have said something else.”
“I said that we were friends. That’s it.” She touched his knee. “I’d never get you in any kind of trouble.”
He looked over at her, smiled. “Promise?” Who was flirting now?
She loved it; she ate it up. “I promise.” She beamed back at him.
He stepped on the gas and the car accelerated with a thrust. Lauren made some kind of squeak of excitement, thrilled at the car’s surge of power. But Jeff had to be careful. He wasn’t drunk, but he might blow just over the legal limit. He couldn’t afford to get pulled over, not now. If anything made him pause, even for a second, he would lose his nerve.
“Tell me where we’re going,” Lauren begged. Her hand was still resting awkwardly on his thigh.
He tossed her a grin. “You’ll see. . . .”
She gave him an excited smile. “Can’t wait.”
BUT HER TUNE changed when they were alone in the elevator. “I don’t want to,” she whimpered softly.
“It’s too late. It’s happening.” Jeff glanced at their reflection in the mirrored walls: a fit middle-aged man and a girl that could have been his daughter, could have been his lover, could have been his captive. . . . Jeff held Lauren’s wrist behind her back, away from the round, unblinking eye of the camera that stared down at them. If someone got on, he’d have to let her go, but for now, he held her roughly, tightly. She could have screamed, scratched, bit, fought him, but for some reason, she didn’t.
“Please, Jeff . . . Don’t make me do this.”
“It’s for your own good,” he growled, eyes fixed on the flashing numbers above the door: 12, 13, 14. . . .
“I thought we were friends,” she tried. “I thought you cared about me.”
I was never your friend, he wanted to say, I never cared about you. . . . But that would have been a lie. He felt something for this mess of a girl, something soft and tender, fierce and protective. Why else would he be willing to risk all he was about to risk?
“That’s why I’m doing this,” he said, as the elevator lurched to a stop. The doors opened on the twenty-third floor. Lauren turned to face him, her pretty gray eyes full of fear, full of tears. “Come on,” he said softly. “It’ll be okay.”
THE LOBBY WAS elegant, expensive, modern . . . appropriate for a near billion-dollar biotech company. Jeff had googled “Darren Ross” and “San Francisco,” and learned he was CEO of a big pharma company that made drugs for ADHD and OCD, among others. A fortyish, blond receptionist with matte red lips and precise eyeliner, sat behind a pale wood desk, staring at her computer screen.
“Where’s your dad’s office?” Jeff asked Lauren quietly.
“I don’t know.” She could have been lying, stalling . . . but it was entirely possible that she had never been invited to her father’s workplace. The two weren’t close, obviously. And while Jeff considered himself a pretty hands-on dad, even Hannah and Aidan had only visited Jeff’s office once, maybe twice. The receptionist glanced over blankly, making it clear that she didn’t recognize Lauren as her boss’s daughter.
His hand on Lauren’s elbow, Jeff hustled her to the reception desk. “We’re here to see Darren Ross,” Jeff said, his voice authoritative. “This is his daughter, Lauren. I’m . . .” Fuck. What was he? And how did he put it so as not to raise alarm bells? “Her principal.”
Lauren looked over at him: liar, but the receptionist (obviously hired to match the decor) didn’t pick up on it. “He’s in an investor meeting right now. He can’t be disturbed.”
“This is extremely important,” Jeff said. “I suggest you interrupt him.”
The receptionist looked at Lauren’s tearful, trembling countenance and reconsidered. She stood, and without a backward glance, moved down the hall behind her.
“Come on,” Jeff whispered, gripping Lauren’s elbow and trailing behind the blond woman. He didn’t trust this perfectly coiffed femme-bot to convey the urgency of his message. Lauren let herself be led, though she dragged her feet.
The boardroom had glass walls exposing five suits surrounding a massive table. Darren Ross was at the bow; Jeff could tell it was him. He was smaller than Jeff would have expected: short, compact, with tanned skin hinting at beach holidays or perhaps ski trips, and gray, almost white hair that did nothing to negate his virile, youthful affect. Lauren had inherited his eyes, his jawline, maybe his lips (some features were hard to translate from middle-aged father to teenaged daughter); there was no doubting their biological connection.
Jeff’s supposition was confirmed when the receptionist walked directly to the man at the table’s head and leaned to whisper in his ear. From their vantage point in the hall, Jeff watched Darren Ross take in the news, then look at an expensive watch on his wrist. He said something to the gatekeeper, something like: I’ll be out in twenty minutes—get them a cup of coffee. Fuck that. Fuck him. He’d put his daughter on the backburner for long enough. Without a word, Jeff grabbed Lauren and pulled her into the room.
“You can’t come in here!” The receptionist said, trying, belatedly, to do her job.
Darren Ross stood and addressed his clients: three men and a woman. “I’m sorry about the interruption. My daughter’s principal needs to speak to me. . . .” He turned to Jeff. “Let’s take this in my office.” Despite the tolerant smile pasted on his face, there was something threatening in his tone. It filled Jeff with an almost overwhelming anger. He was going to knock this prick down.
“I’m not Lauren’s principal,” Jeff said, his voice full of contempt. “You’d know that if you participated in her life at all. . . .”
The female client stood. “We should go.”
The others made to follow suit, but Jeff addressed them. “Please. Stay. This won’t take long.”
The clients looked to Darren Ross for guidance, but his eyes were fixed on Jeff. He probably thought Jeff was some lunatic about to pull a gun, or blow himself up, maybe light himself on fire. . . . Darren didn’t look frightened just . . . coiled for action. The clients exchanged awkward glances but settled back in their seats.
He spoke directly to Darren. “I’m Jeff Sanders, Hannah’s dad. She’s one of Lauren’s friends.”
The name seemed to register with Darren. “The lawsuit . . .” he muttered.
“Lauren and Hannah got into a fight at school today. I’m sure the principal called you.”
“They would have called my ex-wife,” Darren said coolly. “I’m working.”
Jeff gave a mirthless laugh. He was actually going to enjoy hurting this cold prick. “Your daughter has been texting me. Sending me naked pictures of herself. Asking me to meet her. Telling me she loves me . . .”
“You’re disgusting,” Darren Ross growled.