The past
“Who was she?” My mother slammed the door behind her as she stormed into my father’s office in the middle of our meeting.
“Excuse me?” my father said.
“That whore he saw you with!”
I go still. That piece-of-shit groundskeeper . . .
“Who the hell are you talking about?” my father asked.
Instead of my mother telling my father what I’d done, she walked by me on the way to slap her hands on his desk.
“My brother said he saw you with a woman last night. Leaving the resort out the back way.”
A rush of relief hit me when I realized it wasn’t me she was accusing. Even though I’d told Whitney I would handle everything and nothing would touch her, the idea of my mother finding out wasn’t something that brought out any warm, fuzzy feelings.
“Then your brother should’ve realized I was taking an employee home. She had a sick kid and needed a ride.”
“At ten o’clock at night? Like I believe that! I checked already, and you had a room blocked off last night.”
“I always have a room blocked off. It’s so I can work all the damn time and make the company more money. You like money, don’t you, Sylvia? That’s why you married me, after all.”
“You hardly ever come home at night anymore!”
“Why would I when all you do is accuse me of cheating on you all the time?”
I stood and backed up toward the door. The last thing I wanted to do was stand around and listen to my parents argue. They didn’t love each other. Never had. I still found it shocking they managed to have three children, because they’d lived in separate wings of the house for as long as I could remember.
I slipped out the door and shut it behind me, muffling their voices a little.
Commodore stepped out of his office, no doubt drawn by the shouting. He glanced at the door and then back at me. “Running away?”
I met his gaze. “Do you want to go in there?”
“Your father is a grown man. He shouldn’t have to explain himself to her. But you should learn something from this, boy. Never marry a woman you don’t trust or who doesn’t trust you. Everything will go to shit faster than you can say I do.”
The first woman who popped into my head was Whitney. She didn’t trust me.
No, that wasn’t true. She didn’t want to trust me, but I was wearing her down. I could trust her . . . at least, I thought I could. I needed to get her to the point where her family loyalty paled in comparison to what she felt for me. That was the only way it would ever work between us.
Which meant I had a long way to go.
Commodore, the canny old man, noticed my silence and narrowed his gaze on me. “You have someone in mind already?”
I shook my head. “Not yet, sir.”
I hated the lie, but it wasn’t time to tell him yet. Although, if it were up to Whitney, it never would be.
One step at a time. That was how I had to work this.
My mother slammed my father’s office door and stopped in front of Commodore. “If your son doesn’t learn how to keep his hands to himself, your family is going to have its first ever divorce.”
Commodore stood even taller as his gaze hardened. “You’ll never walk away from a penny of this voluntarily. But I would write you a check if you do. For a dollar.”
My mother inhaled sharply at Commodore’s insult. It was harsh enough that it even shocked me.
“Sir—”
He held up a hand to silence me. “You have anything else to add to the conversation, Sylvia?”
My mother glared and stalked away.
Commodore turned back to me when she disappeared into the elevator. “Sometimes you have to take a hard line with the ones who would walk all over you. I know she’s your mother, but I don’t like that woman.”
My father’s office door opened and he stepped out. With his hands shoved in his pockets, he asked, “Anyone else need a drink?”