Page 76 of Pretty Little Threats

Exhaling, I shake my head and put my phone in my purse. Cassia has a lot of confidence in me. If only she knew that, so far, all I’ve done is let Dare see how easy I am to manipulate. He knows too many of my weaknesses.

The driver slows outside of the JD Miller & Co building. Clouds loom around the top levels, casting an ominous visage that has my breath freezing in my lungs. Or maybe that’s the memory of my dad’s hand cracking against my skin.

Don’t show your weakness, Rosalynn.

I shove everything to the back of my mind, taking a fortifying breath before allowing the driver to take my hand and help me out of the car. My heart slams against my rib cage, pulse racing. I keep my breathing even and fight to hold my composure.

Dad might not even be there. Wishful thinking, but I can’t linger out here like a scared little kitten when he raised me to be a lion. Head held high, I strut into the building like it’s any other day, nodding at a few familiar faces. Irene is out, and I frown at the man who stands in her place, guarding the elevator like someone is going to try and rush past him.

“Good morning,” I tell him with a soft smile.

“Morning,” he says quickly, pressing the button and pressing his lips together. He averts his gaze.

Just as well.

Anxiety has my heart a fluttering, frantic mess, and my hands shake at my sides. I step into the elevator as soon as it arrives, nodding at the attendant and pursing my lips as I try to calm down.

Dad has probably cooled off by now. I doubt he’ll be as furious as he was yesterday. I arrive at the executive floor sooner than I’d like and stride out of the elevator, faking confidence I don’t feel. Ryan, the receptionist, watches me carefully, his eyes tracking over my face, as if searching for evidence of what happened yesterday. When I narrow my eyes at him, he quickly finds something to do.

Since it’s later in the day, the morning rush to get coffees and breakfast to the various executive suites has settled, saving me from any awkward encounters. Dad’s door is closed.

Breathing out, I rush by it and slip into my office, leaving the door slightly ajar. A giant bouquet sits in the middle of my desk. Peach roses. My chest fractures. Mom’s favorite flower. I take the little card from the middle of the blooms and read it.

Rosalynn, my sweetest rose, I’m sorry for losing my temper.

“Those were your mom’s favorite.” Dad’s voice startles me, and I clutch the card to my chest, ignoring the way my blood sours, and turn around. He’s hesitating in the doorway. Waiting for permission to enter.

I set the card back in the holder. “I know.” He only talks about Mom when he’s trying to win me over. Lifting my chin, I stare him down, refusing to be the first to buckle.

Dad searches my face, hands in his pockets, and a little smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Not going to makeit easy on me, are you?” There’s so much pride in his words. Like I’ve pleased him by being upset with how he hurt me.

“Your reaction was...” I trail off, but clear my throat and push through, “unacceptable.”

Dad nods and steps into the office, closing the door.

My heart skips.

He takes a step, and I back into the desk, making him pause. Remorse pours over his features. “I shouldn’t have hit you, Rosalynn. I know that. I’m so sorry. Darian is a monster and you’re my little girl, and I lost control at the thought of him hurting you.”

The ache of distrust is thick in my throat. “And smacking me did what?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Dad struggles to answer. It’s not often Joseph Miller is at a loss for words. “There’s no excuse for what I did. I can only tell you how sorry I am.”

“You’ve said that before.” I look out my window, which overlooks the city. When I was in junior high, he screamed at me for not getting straight As and didn’t stop until I was on the ground, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. The next day, he apologized for raising his voice but told me I had to learn how to not be weak. That was one of many times hetaught me how to be strong.“A lot.”

I’ve always considered those moments nothing more than a dad dealing with an unruly teenager, but with the stain of yesterday still hiding under layers of makeup on my face, I’m questioning everything.

His graying eyebrows pinch together. “I thought we were past this.”

Past all the times he’s torn me down, only to offer a flimsy apology? I thought I was okay with it. It made more sense when it was him trying to teach his kid how to be tough when the other rich kids pushed her around or whenshe wasn’t focusing enough. It’s an entirely different feeling now that I’m an adult.

Dad sighs and scrubs his hand over his face. “I don’t want to fight, Rosalynn.” His voice cracks, and when he glances at me, his eyes are watery. “I regret what I did, and I know I can’t change it, but you’re my daughter. I love you.”

The tears break through my defenses. He never cries. I know the news of my marriage to Dare hit him hard. Clearly, his emotions got the better of him yesterday, and it appears they’re still messing with his head today. Of all the times he’s yelled at me, he’s never hit me. “I don’t want to fight with you, either,” I confess, throat tight. “But you hurt me, Dad.”

“I know, Rosalynn. I’m so sorry.” He hangs his head and presses the palms of his hands into his eyes. “I couldn’t sleep last night, thinking of you with Darian. Please tell me you’re safe.”

“Dare—ian hasn’t touched me.” At least, not in the way he thinks.

---