Page 70 of For Her Own Good

Tad spreads his hands like he’s being the reasonable one here and I’m the overreacting shrew. “Starla, I came here to offer you my help.”

I believe that not at all. “You’ve been badgering me for months and now you want to help me? Pardon me if I don’t buy that story for a second.”

“You can believe whatever you like, but it’s true. I heard that Jerome Garrett has been sniffing around shares of Patrick Enterprises.”

Jerome Garrett has been my father’s biggest rival for years. Had been? They were often competing in the same industries, with one of them always one step ahead of the other. My father mostly despised the man because they’d been so fiercely competitive. Not in the way that you have drinks at the club after one of you wins either. More like I wouldn’t have been surprised if one of them clubbed the other one to death if they’d found themselves on the same golf course.

“Why would he do that? He’s got his own empire to run.”

“Probably because he smells blood in the water. Knows you’re weak. Let’s face it, if I’m an investor in Patrick Enterprises, who would I rather have steering the ship? Jerome Garrett, who has successfully run a multinational, multibillion-dollar corporation for over thirty years or little Starla Patrick, who can barely run a tiny boutique consulting firm for other nutjobs like herself?”

Rage and embarrassment burn my sinuses, but I’m not going to cry in front of this dickhead. Even when we were together, he never knew what to do with me when I was upset. He sure did pick up on my sore spots, though.

“You are an investor in Patrick Enterprises and I don’t think it would be in your best interest to have Garrett take over. You’re one of my father’s people, and I can’t imagine that one of his first orders of business wouldn’t be to get rid of you.”

“Maybe so, but I’d be leaving with a pretty sweet golden parachute—not to mention if I sell out sooner rather than later, I’ll get a nice chunk of change.”

Five years ago, I would’ve said Tad wasn’t capable of such a dick move, but now I’m not so sure. Or is he bluffing? How do I know? Although I’d never admit it to him, I’m not cut out for these corporate games of cat and mouse and double-crossing and whatever else these mostly old white guys do while they fuck around with other people’s money. It’s not an exhilarating rush like it was for my father—it scares the shit out of me that I am playing with people’s futures. I don’t want that. But I also don’t want Tad doing it, because at least I’d try to be responsible. Whereas this fucking guy…

“What do you mean ‘sooner rather than later’?”

“You really are just a pretty face, aren’t you?”

He’s lucky I only punched him in the face. Now I’m wishing I would have kneed him in the balls or stabbed him with my scissors or otherwise done more significant violence to his person.

Tad revels in my ignorance for a few more beats, smirking.

“This could get ugly. Very ugly. You think my little taunts hurt your feelings? In this kind of corporate warfare, there are no holds barred and Jerome Garrett is one of the most vicious people I know. He’s going to go after your mental health, he’s going to go after your sex life, he’s going to after anything about you that could be used to embarrass or discredit you. When he does, the stock of Patrick Enterprises will tank, and he’ll be able to snap up a controlling share on the cheap.”

“It would be almost impossible for him to—”

“Didn’t you listen to your father at all?”

I close my eyes against the image of my father sitting at his desk in the evening while I was still small, before my traitorous brain had ruined everything. “We’re in the business of the impossible, Starla. Someone says you can’t do something? That means you’re going to.”

It had taken me a while to realize that he stopped saying that to me when I was about fourteen. Probably around the time he realized I wouldn’t “snap out of” my depression. Around the time I started to feel like he’d given up on me. He’d started saying it again in the past few years and my relief was palpable. He possibly thought I was worthy. That I hadn’t entirely failed. I only felt the desolation of how much I’d let him down, shamed him, when it stopped. So, fucking yes, I listened to my father, but Tad won’t let me get a word in edgewise.

“Even if you didn’t, Jerome Garrett sure as fuck did. ‘We’re in the business of the impossible’? It won’t be easy, but he could make this happen.”

Fuck. I’ll have to run some numbers and look in some of those piles of reports and figure out exactly how difficult it would be for Garrett to get a controlling share of Patrick Industries. I hold 49 percent of the stock, he’d have to basically form a coalition of every other stockholder to override me. One would assume that would be nigh on impossible, but shit. Shit. I need to study up and then I had best make a decision.

Before anything else, though, I need Tad out of my apartment because I sure as fuck can’t think clearly with this douche canoe messing with my head.

“Perfect. Thanks for the heads-up. Do you need anything else? Didn’t think so. Get the fuck out before I call building security and have you escorted out of here.”

Again with the “whoa, crazy lady, take it easy,” hands, and he’s backing toward the door. He steps into the hallway but doesn’t close the door until he sends a parting shot: “Tick tock, Starla. Better make a decision quick otherwise your father’s legacy could end up trashed and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

It’s so tempting to throw something at the door, but he’d probably enjoy that and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. What I do want is to talk to Lowry. My watch says it’s three forty-five, so he should be on his way back to his office from the gym. First, I’ll compose myself because even though I want the comfort of his voice, I can’t take him digging. I’ll surely spill all my troubles, and then he’ll back away slowly because that isn’t the kind of disaster he signed up for. I take a few breaths and then make the call, having to wait only a couple of beats before he picks up.

“Well, this is a nice surprise.”

Yes, that’s what I needed. My shoulders sink down from my ears at hearing his gentle burr, the way he sounds genuinely delighted that I’m calling him unexpectedly.

“Maybe I’ll have an even better one for you later. Are you still coming over?”

It’s not flattering to sound insecure, but that will raise fewer red flags than having a meltdown, which at this point is my other option. Maybe he’ll think I’m being flirty. Sure, let’s go with that.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

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