Page 106 of Impossible Love

Of course, many little girls feel that way about their father. As we grow up, the shiny image fades. But it hits me with sadness that Nigel Backlund really was a better person back then. The money, land, and trappings of great wealth have sucked any goodness from him and left just malice and greed.

“We don’t run a charity here,” he hisses. “Your do-gooder routine didn’t stop the Sulfur Springs deal, and in fact, all you did was make it harder on the mouth-breather MacLaines. I’ll still get what I want. Those dime store GI Joes won’t be able to stop me. Not even the one you dropped your knickers for.”

I stay silent, though my throat burns with loathing for him. He wants me to respond, and it bothers him that I haven’t. I see something in his eyes. He’s preparing his next punch.

“I thought you learned that lesson with Greg—you know, never ruin business with pleasure.”

Of course he throws that in. He never misses an opportunity.

Greg was an analyst who reported directly to my father. When our year-long relationship soured, the deal we’d worked on together went south. Father blamed me but had to fire Greg to save face. He’s never forgiven me.

Greg was his boy wonder, the son he never had. I was just his daughter.

“Do you know why I sent you to Nevada, Victoria?”

I stay silent.

“I sent you there to be a decoy. You were meant to be a pretty little distraction in your tight business suits and high heels.”

My legs feel weak. My stomach turns. I grab the edge of his desk to stay standing.

“What did you just say?”

Chapter 56

Victoria

“Do you mind repeating that for me, Father? Because you could not possibly mean what you just said.”

“Spare me the drama, Victoria. I sent you to Yale to study business, not theater.”

He spins around in his custom leather office chair to the credenza behind him. He pours himself a crystal tumbler of what is undoubtedly a thirty-year-old double-malt whisky. Like all his acquisitions, my father prefers only the best of the best. He downs it in a single gulp, then turns to face me again.

“I knew that with you at Yosemite Ranch, the men would take their eyes off the ball long enough for me to make the magic happen.”

The horror rolls through me. He means it. My face starts to tingle and heat up. I fear I’m going to be sick. “You… you sent me there because I’m attractive?”

“Brains and beauty. My secret weapon.”

It takes me a moment to put the words together. “So you pimped out your own daughter to cheat the MacLaines.” I made sure that was a statement and not a question.

“It would be irresponsible of me not to. I always use every asset I have to get what I want.”

“I’m not an asset. I’m your daughter.”

He rolls his eyes. “Enough.”

“You set me up too.”

“How so?”

“The background research you gave me. It was all inaccurate. The MacLaines aren’t broke. They did not take out loans to meet expenses—the sons’ tech company is so successful that they put the ranch back in the black. This was not the mutually beneficial business arrangement you claimed it was. This was just a hostile, dishonest shell game.”

He shrugs. “That’s one way to look at it, I suppose. But you saw that place, Victoria. All that land is going to waste on cows when it could be a real money-maker, with residential and commercial development, casinos, hotels, and whatnot. Sulfur Springs alone is the perfect setting for a world-class resort.”

“You paid Arlo Westervelt.” My voice sounds empty, and the truth settles like a boulder in my gut. “He switched out the BLM lease on your behalf.”

My father smiles and claps his hands. “Good on you for figuring that out!”

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