care if the staff hear.
“Yes, well, while you’re manipulating things and moving chess pieces across your board, I was planning to try to be friends with him again. Now, thanks to you, that scene was twice as painful as it needed to be. I hope you’re happy.”
Another careless shrug. “I thought it might help keep the men on their toes. Men like a good bit of competition.”
“Competition?” I can barely spit the word out. “Is this a game to you? My happiness and Percy’s feelings are, what? Monopoly money to you?”
“Course not, Charlotte. Why so dramatic?” He heads to the drink cart, pours himself a healthy whiskey and takes an appreciative sip. “But a girl has to be smart about these things. And I do hope you’ve thought through a strategy for dealing with Damon Black. If he’s your choice. You could do much worse. Just don’t blow it. Not when the family atmosphere is so toxic right now and I don’t know where our funds are going to come from. We may well be cut off before it’s all over.”
“I don’t need to depend on my dad or marry well to keep myself fed, thanks. I’ll figure something out on my own.”
“You’ll figure something out on your own?” My father breaks into strangled laughter and barely gets his whiskey down without spewing it all over his priceless rugs. “You’re delusional! Your dearly departed mother was so fond of making you out to be a regular child”—he pauses to make quotation marks with his fingers—“but where was she when it came to finances?”
I shift uncomfortably, knowing where this might be going, and try to head it off at the pass. “I can certainly—”
“No! You can’t! You’ve never had a true job, Charlotte. You’ve had fun little internships because I called someone for you and pulled a string, but you’ve never had to work for a living like the average bloke. You take my credit card and pay for your rent and food, your clothes and your car. And then the invoice comes to my office and we pay for it. That’s Monopoly money. D’you think for one second that you could afford your lifestyle without my deep pockets? D’you have any idea what your rent costs per month? Your petrol? Your shoes? And now you thumb your nose at Percy and march about saying you’re going to be financially independent? I can hardly wait to see how you pull off this magical feat!”
“I’ll figure something out!” I shout, gravely wounded by this overdose of the truth in all its brutality. Funny how I’ve never realized until this very second how bad my situation is. How grim my prospects are. I’ve spent my entire, largely aimless life skipping about while secure in the knowledge that there’s an invisible safety net down there somewhere, ready to protect me if needed. If it wasn’t my father, then it was Percy. I never bothered to formulate a Plan C.
But now I’m on my own with precious few skills and no experience.
And I’m in charge of weaving my own safety net.
My stomach churns at the prospect.
“I intend to paint,” I add. “I told you that.”
My father seems less than convinced about my chances of self-rescue as he shakes his head and regards me with open amusement.
“Not to put too fine a point on it, darling, but you’re not the self-sufficient type. The best thing you can do for yourself is cozy up to Damon Black. You’ve brought one billionaire to heel. You can do it again.”
This outdated sexist nonsense makes me apoplectic, as does his casual disregard of my feelings and my abilities. Money has nothing to do with my relationship with Damon—just as it had nothing to do with my relationship with Percy—and it never will.
My father’s complete lack of faith in me is galling.
And motivating.
“Stay out of my life, Daddy. I’m warning you. I will handle Damon Black and the rest of my personal life without any help from you.”
“I can hardly wait to see how you pull that rabbit out of your hat,” he says, toasting me with his drink.
11
Damon
This is just great.
This is just. Fucking. Great.
I glance around the elegant confines of the so-called cottage (and, let me tell you, if this is a cottage, then my fifteen-million-dollar penthouse back in NYC is a fixer-upper), feeling like a lion trapped in a steamer trunk and wishing I could slash my way out. It’s been two hours since I walked away from