Unladylike? Yup. And supremely unforgivable for the supposed successor to the Long corporate throne. No matter her explanation, it wouldn’t be enough.
It’s never enough.
“Does it mean anything at all,” she asked, “that the man tried putting his hands on me first?”
Disappointment swept over her as her father glared back.
“And why were you in a situation where someone would do that? Could do that? What, some random stranger just attacked you out of the blue? Who is he, Jackie?”
Her father was the only person in the world who could call her that. She’d forever be his little girl. And she’d always be his Jackie because it never hurt. Today, though, it did carry the slightest sting.
Her gaze dropped to her Louboutins. Drowning in discomfort, she knew he was right. Under her breath, she muttered, “He’s my trainer.”
“Your trainer?” Her father blew up. “From that rag of a place not suitable for roaches? Oh, that’s just perfect. The press is going to gobble up every last bite. Why the fight?” He paused for a moment, looking her up and down, his harshness replaced by a worried look. “Are you . . . pregnant?”
“No! We’re not in a relationship.”
“Well, it sure looked like a relationship. A messed-up, vulgar, abusive relationship. My daughter, valedictorian of her class, heir apparent to Long Multinational Systems, brilliant beyond words, reduced to a prime-time punching bag for a thug.”
“Okay, first of all,” she said, tired of being shouted at, “I was nobody’s punching bag. In case you missed it, I was defending myself and doing a damn good job of it. Second—” Her voice cracked as it caught in her throat. What could she say?
He started it?
He called me fat?
Even better, he called my ass fat.
Brilliant. That should work.
She huffed. “Forget it.”
Red-faced and frustrated, Everett stared at Jaclyn, and her defenses crumbled. She’d never been afraid of her father, but today was different because the stakes were higher, and on more than one front. Scared wasn’t the half of it. She was terrified, and desperate to hide it.
“Dad, why don’t you sit down? Let me get you some water. Have you had your aspirin yet?” He’s got to settle down. I can’t lose him.
Everett stepped to his desk, breaking from the heat of the moment to take in a deep breath. Lowering himself to the comfort of his leather executive chair, he relaxed. He set it to recline, settling back and letting Jaclyn do what she’d done for years. Care for him.
She’d slipped into the role of nurse when called for, with a frequency that had picked up over the past few years. She cared for him as no one else. Couldn’t he see she’d do the same for the company? He could finally take it easy. Or, at least, easier.
The parts of her heart that weren’t battered and barriered were his. Jaclyn loved her father. And she loved their company too. Her daily walk across a wiggling tightrope between cherishing her father and chasing her dreams always landed her in the exact same spot. This office. She figured with enough hard work, she could have it all.
As she took a chilled Pellegrino from the office fridge, he pulled an aspirin bottle from his drawer. He swallowed the pills while Jaclyn tugged at his tie, loosening it to release the top button captured in his stiff collar.
His hand wrapped around hers as he solemnly snared her gaze. “My days in this chair are numbered, kiddo.”
His soft words made it impossible for her to hold back her feelings. “Dad, I’m sorry.”
“Hey, I don’t want your apologies,” he said, saying what he needed to, balancing kindness with sternness. “I want you to really think about what you want. You think it’s bad today, try plopping your ass in this seat. People will go out of their way to provoke you. Attack you. Humiliate you. And I know you’re strong. You can take it. Your mother did her damnedest to make you a sweet and dainty ballerina, and somehow you became a tough-as-nails fighter. Hell, you’ve been fighting since you were ten.”
My first real fight. And another stellar, unquestionable example of “they started it.” And to think, everything could be traced to ballet class.
A smile curled her lips as she remembered how she’d reigned supreme. Well, almost.
Three prim-and-proper girls against one. Against her. Those prissy little eleven-year-old princesses might have started it, but her ten-year-old spitfire self definitely finished it. One of them even walked away with a black eye.
Jaclyn’s smile widened as she conveniently ignored the fact that the punch that landed the shiner had actually been thrown by that girl’s best friend.
But in the scuffle, Jaclyn had lost a priceless treasure—a thin gold necklace with two hearts on a charm. It had been a gift from her mother, and going home without it wasn’t an option. Not because her mother would be angry, but because she would be disappointed. And the last thing Jaclyn wanted was to disappoint either of her parents.
The dance school owner had stepped away for her weekly manicure next door, leaving her young son in charge. He only had to hold down the fort for an hour, at most, but squelching high-pitched Jaclyn’s waterworks wasn’t easy. Her loss turned into a desperate search-and-rescue attempt for him. He swore he’d find the necklace if she’d just calm down. Even offered his battered watch as collateral.
Through her sniffling, she’d considered the offer, then had observantly replied, “It’s broken.”
He’d scowled at her. “Calm down, kid. You’re just holding it until I find your stupid necklace.”
“It’s not stupid,” she’d said, sniffling and angry. “My mom gave it to me.”
He looked at her with an unexpected sadness in his eyes. “It’s not stupid.” For a minute, he was quiet and looking around. “Here.” He slipped the watch onto her wrist. “Hold this until I find your necklace.”
“Why?” On further inspection, it was more tattered than she’d originally noticed.
“It’s something my dad calls motivation. Just trust me.”
He’d checked everywhere, finding gum wrappers galore. A partially eaten Twinkie from who knows when. But no necklace.
The exhaustive search by a twelve-year-old detective and his weeping sidekick turned up empty. He tried to make good on his epic failure by giving her the watch. At least, until he eventually found her necklace. But even at ten years old, Jaclyn could see that it meant something more. Why would a boy wear a broken watch and offer it up? Because it was as precious to him as her necklace was to her, and looked about the right size to belong to his father.
She refused. He insisted. She tried to slip it off. He held it in place. She finally ended by giving him a hug. A long, sweet, terribly drawn-out hug. And for those minutes, he hugged her back.
Resting his head on hers, his words still haunted her. “I promise, I’ll find it. It’ll be here when you come back.”
His gentle rocking was just enough so she could slowly slip the watch into the back pocket of his baggy jeans, because she’d never come back. Losing that necklace had defined her.
From then on out, she promised her young self, she’d be a woman who would stay on her toes, keep her guard up, and always be ready for a fight. Anytime. Any place.