Page 57 of Dirty Lyrics
chapter 23-maya
“Yeah?” I ask into the speaker.
“Mrs. Véliz, there’s someone here to see you,” the guard replies, his voice crackling faintly.
“Oh? Who?”
“Says he’s your father.”
My eyebrows shoot sky high.
My father.
It’s been months—closer to a year—since I’ve spoken to him. Since I ran from his shadow and tried to carve out a life that was mine and not tied to Alberto Gold, music mogul.
I don’t necessarily like him.
He’s manipulative. Controlling. Cold.
But he’s still my father. And for all the bitterness between us, I can’t forget that.
My stomach tightens—not from the baby this time, but from nerves.
“Um,” I hesitate, chewing on my lip, my pulse picking up.
“Let him up.”
The words are out before I can stop them.
And as I pull back from the panel, my heart pounds harder. Because whatever my father is doing here, it’s not random. Alberto Gold never does anything without a reason.
And I have no idea if I’m ready to face it.
Minutes tick by quickly, but it’s enough time for me to pull myself together. By the time the private elevator dings and slides open, I’ve got my armor in place—chin up, smile just shy of polite.
My father steps out like he owns the building.
Italian linen suit, pressed and crisp.
Sunglasses indoors.
Too many gold chains and bracelets jangling against his tanned skin.
Nearly seventy and my father is still dressing like a pimp who lost his way on the Vegas strip.
“Maya!”
“Dad,” I murmur, the word dry in my throat.
He strides up and gives me that half hug-pat thing he’s perfected—more of a performance than affection—and I step back almost immediately, plastering on a fake smile.
We stand awkwardly for a moment, then I remember my manners.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask, my voice carefully neutral.
“Sure. Scotch?”
“It’s eleven a.m.”
