Little.
Bespoke.
Bespoke was right up there with cosmetically enhanced duck lips. I stared at him. He’d never respected what I did. He’d never respected me. He’d seen me as a little thorn in his side ever since my mother died when I was nine. I grabbed my glass and sucked back what was left inside. “So that’s why I’m here?” I said quietly as I poured more. “You want to throw some money at me—at your little Ellie problem—before you and your new lady here embark on some yearlong, age-crisis-fueled adventure?” I’d known he was leaving on a big trip. I hadn’t known he was taking a woman. But of course he was. “Like you’ve always just thrown money at me, or parked me somewhere expensive, ever since Mom died, thinking that covered your paternal obligations.”
He blinked.
“Yeah.” My voice started to rise, surprising even me. “I should have had the guts to say it to your face long ago. I should have been less . . . what did you call it? ‘Passive’? You think if you throw a few millions my way”—my voice turned shrill and I couldn’t seem to stop myself—“that if you dangle some venture capital in front of me like I’m one of these speed daters looking for cash—like all the others here for this conference—that you can wash your hands of your little Ellie problem and finally be free now that you’ve hit some benchmark birthday and want to enjoy your end-of-life decades?”
Virginie shot a terrified look at the people seated at the tables around us. They’d fallen quiet and were actively listening. One or two glanced our way, then quickly averted their eyes.
I could imagine the gossip headlines already. “Hartley Heiress” has another public breakdown. Sterling James Hartley and his trust-fund daughter row at his famous AGORA convention in his namesake hotel.
Shaking slightly from the adrenaline building in my system, I said, “You really do think money is everything, don’t you? Maybe if you’d just once tried to read me a story at night when I was little, or seen how your grandchild—”
“Lower your voice,” he growled.
“Oh, not passive enough for you?”
“I’m simply making an offer, Ellie. Something to keep you busy, to help keep your mind off . . . things. To get you out and about and meeting people. Freelance work is so solitary. You’re all alone in your studio. It’s not good.”
I glowered at him, heart pumping. I wanted to say that I liked being alone. But he was right. I needed company. I needed family. Not financing.
Virginie and my father exchanged a look. My father nodded and raised his hand, calling for the tab. He then leaned close and took my hand in his. Big and warm, and the little nine-year-old inside me ached.
“Virginie and I are going to leave now. We have another engagement tonight.”
I nodded, mouth tight.
“I’m going to call you a cab.”
I said nothing.
“I just want you to know the offer is on the table. Whatever you want, whatever it takes. Maybe you want to try something in real estate, like you were doing with Doug—”
“That was Doug’s thing. Not mine.”
His jaw tightened. He nodded again. “Phone me. Virginie and I are leaving on the tour tomorrow and could be out of cell reach a lot of the time, especially in the Sahara and while on the Antarctica leg of the expedition, which will be toward the end of the year. But even if you can’t reach me personally, get in touch with Sarah Chappel—she’s my new personal assistant at the office. I’m leaving her instructions, and I’ll do the same with my legal adviser. He can look through your proposal, get the ball rolling, and set you up.”
He got to his feet. Virginie followed suit. Finality. I could feel it. I was thirty-four, supposedly over my grief crisis, and my father was paying me off because he wanted to focus guilt-free on his world trip. His duty was done. The notion echoed through my skull like a resonant steeple bell. Sterling Hartley was signing the final check. His conscience could be clean.
“Don’t bother about a cab,” I said.
“Ellie—”
“I’m staying, going to have another drink.”
He regarded me.
“Hey, you said I should get out more. Well, I’m out now.”
He hesitated, then placed a perfunctory kiss on my cheek. I motioned for the server. I ordered a martini while I watched my father going up to the bar. He leaned across the counter and said something to the barman, who had a shaved head and dark stubble, and was built like a wrestler. The Rock glanced my way and nodded. My all-controlling father had likely told the barman to keep an eye on his wayward adult child. For a moment I wanted to believe he cared. But my sociopathic father more likely was worried I’d make a scene that would embarrass him.
I turned my back to them and faced my reflection in the big windows. Long shiny hair so dark it was almost black. Pale skin. My fitted dress. Knee-high boots. I didn’t look half-bad. I crossed my legs in an attempt to look more elegant. My martini arrived, and as I took my first sip, my phone rang.
I set my drink down and ferreted in my purse. Dana. My heart squeezed. I’d missed Dana hugely. I missed all my old girlfriends—our nights out on the town. It had been far too long. I hurriedly connected the call.
“Ellie,” Dana said as soon as I picked up. “What are you up to tonight? I could use a couple of drinks.”
“Tom?”
A dark laugh. “How’d you guess? Yeah, we had another dustup. It’s his work. Stress.”
I smiled, happily drunk now. Delighted at the prospect of seeing Dana. “Meet me in the Mallard Lounge at the Hartley,” I said. “I’m already here and warmed up and I sure could blow off some more steam with an old friend.”
Dana said she’d be there in a few. She lived nearby. I killed the call, and as I slipped my phone back into my purse, I noticed in the window reflection the brunette still seated behind me. She seemed to be watching me as she spoke quietly into her phone. I glanced to my left. A man sat there. Also watching me. I looked across the room and felt a twinge of unease. How loud had I really been?
THEN
ELLIE
Dana downed another tequila shot and plonked her glass down hard on the bar counter, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. “Screw men!”
I laughed. My boho friend turned men’s heads. She was a woman who liked to read tarot cards and meditate and measure her pulse after a “forest bathe,” otherwise known to ordinary people as a hike in the woods. Her hair was thick and wavy and chestnut brown, her complexion clear. She wore a long skirt tonight, leather boots, big hoop earrings, and a wide smile. Dana was vital where I’d been so crushed. Her presence tonight awakened a squidge of envy in me and a whole lot of love. I wanted some of her fire. I wanted to stay out of the depression-and-grief abyss that had yawned open in front of me again at the sight of my father’s new girlfriend.
“Screw everyone!” I concurred with matching gusto and downed my own shot. I motioned to The Rock for another round. We ordered more food and yet more drinks. And we laughed. Great big belly laughs. Flushed with warmth and friendship. When I checked my watch, I was startled to see the time. The movers were arriving in the morning. I needed to wrap things up here and get myself into bed.