Marrying Mr. Wrong (Dirty Martini Running Club #3) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,98
if I hate it?”
“You won’t hate it.”
“What if I don’t want to move?”
I crossed my arms. “Then I’ll move you anyway. He’s buying you a new house and you can sleep in a bed again and it’s going to be wonderful and I’m not taking no for an answer, so you better get used to it.”
He looked down and cleared his throat. “Sophie.”
“Dad, you’re all I have. Except for a hamster who’s mean to me and a cat who hides under the bed a lot. And I’m all you have, too. You always took care of me, mostly on your own. And you did such a good job. It’s my turn to take care of you.”
“Princess, you don’t have to take care of me.”
“Too bad. I want to and I already said I’m not taking no for an answer.”
He lifted his gaze and his eyes brimmed with tears. I’d never seen my dad cry. Not even once. “My sweet, sweet girl. The big guy upstairs took your mom too soon, but he sure did leave a piece of her behind in you.”
“Dad, you’re going to make me cry.” It was a silly thing to say because I was already crying.
Coughing a little, he swiped beneath his eyes. “Well, that’s a fuckin’ thing, isn’t it? I guess a new house won’t be too bad.”
“No, it’s going to be great.”
“But things didn’t work out with the suit?”
I shook my head. “No, things didn’t work out. But please don’t tell me you found someone to set me up with. I’m not ready for that.”
“I know, princess,” he said. “But I’m telling you he’s out there. And when he finds you, he’s going to be the luckiest fuckin’ guy in the universe.”
I sniffed back more tears. “Thanks, Daddy. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
And because he was a gruff old man who had a knack for knowing when to talk and when I needed a few minutes to stop crying, he turned on the TV.
I cried a little more. Because for a while, I’d thought Cox might be the one. The man my dad had been telling me I’d find. The one who loved me for me, hot mess and all.
But that had been too big of a dream to be real.
35
Cox
I set my empty glass down on the bar, contemplating whether to order another. Taking the edge off—more than I already had—was tempting. But I also had to play eighteen holes of golf with my mother, and she was a ruthless competitor. More whiskey was not going to help my game.
I’d come to the country club early, which was why I was the lone guy hunched over a drink at the bar at ten o’clock in the morning. It wasn’t even my usual day to golf with Mom. But I’d developed a strong aversion to being at home since Sophie had left.
Since I’d made her leave. It was my fault she was gone. I had to own that.
So when Mom had asked if I was up for a game—her partner for today had canceled—I’d agreed.
Dealing with Althea the other day had brought bittersweet satisfaction. She was no longer a threat to me or my company. But I’d lost one of the people I’d relied on. And what did it say about me that I’d turned a blind eye to her shortcomings? Could I trust my own judgment?
Since coming down off all that anger-fueled adrenaline after firing Althea, I’d sunk deep into the muck of self-loathing. I’d made some big-ass mistakes, and I had no idea if there was anything I could do to make up for them. And when it came to Sophie, I was shit out of luck. There was no way she’d forgive me for how I’d treated her.
Oliver slid onto the stool next to me. “Here you are.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I think we both know the answer to that. Why haven’t you talked to her?”
I stared at my empty glass. Because it was hopeless. “What the fuck can I say? I screwed up. She left and I deserved it.”
“True, you did deserve it.”
“Thanks, Oliver. I’m glad we could have this little chat. Big help.”
He signaled to someone behind me. “He’s over here.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Great. It was Corban Nash and Shepherd Calloway. This was the last thing I needed right now. It was bad enough that I had to face my mother in less than an hour.