Page 54 of Damaged Billionaire Daddy
“Let’s see if we can make it happen,” Mimi said. Then she nodded at the pot of crimson tea roses. “By the way, there’s something to be said for a man who sends a potted plant instead of cut flowers. Maybe you shouldn’t write him off just yet.”
I shook my head. “Mimi, I see what you are doing there, but I was never anything important or special to him. It was a way to get to you and Pops, and to get back at his fiancée.”
Mimi clicked her tongue. “Well, well. In all events, let’s get you packed so you can go see about your mother. When your father was alive, she was a good and caring parent. If she’s asking for you, you should go to her.”
* * *
I looked out over the wing of the airplane. Mimi and Pops had made a few phone calls, then I had called Uncle George, and he agreed to meet me at the airport.
Amazingly, I had not been sick even once after packing. Not even when the airplane hit a patch of turbulence.
The flight attendant, a slender young man with bright orange hair, checked on me regularly. He made sure I was well supplied with saltines and 7-Up. I passed on the mealthat was served at mid-flight. My stomach was behaving well, and I didn’t want to take any chances.
I let my mind drift to that last round of…well, could you call it love making? I had punched Richard, then he had said something, but I was too upset to listen.
How could a man who enjoyed Princess Bride, built snow forts, and knew how to make snow candy be such a total prick?
Pops had once said that many people separate their business dealings from their personal life. He’d explained that it was a way for people from ruthless stockbrokers to soldiers and assassins to have something resembling a normal life when they were not “at work.”
“But how can they do that?” I had protested. “Just because they shut off the emotions doesn’t undo the things that they have done.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Pops had said. “That’s why I like growing grapes, and why I focus more on body and flavor than alcohol content in my wine.”
“Because of Mom?” I had asked.
Pops had shaken his head. “No. I’d started paying attention to making a good flavored wine long before your father was a teen. Your mom didn’t always have a problem with drinking wine. That happened after your father was taken from us, and after her accident.”
I wondered how Mom was holding up. Would she check herself out of the hospital and take off before I can get there? The clouds outside the window of the plane reminded me of the meringue she used to layer over lemon pie. I loved lemon pie, but I hated meringue. To me, it tasted like rubber.
Maybe getting back with Mom will be like lemon pie. We could throw away the browned egg whites off the top and enjoy the good lemon pudding and graham cracker crust underneath.
This thought made for a happy daydream I could indulge in while the plane droned across the route that had taken me nearly four days by car. I imagined sitting down beside her bed and having her smile at me like she used to when I was a kid and brought her burned toast and tea for Mother’s Day.
Maybe I was still a kid hoping for a mom who would take care of me.
Chapter twenty-three
Richard
I sat on an uncomfortable chrome and black leather couch. Across a glass and chrome coffee table sat Delard in a black and chrome chair.
“So, tell me again,” he said, “Why exactly is it that we shouldn’t pull the financial legs out from under Quinn Vineyards?”
I stared at him. Then I looked around the apartment.
Kayla had furnished it. The carpet was white, the walls were white, the chairs and couch were black leather and chrome.
The coffee table and end tables were glass and chrome. The only touches of color were a Mondrian style painting done in primary colors that were outlined in black and a red silk rose placed in a crystal vase in the center of the coffee table.
I hated it. I hated it when she did it, even though I thought I loved her. And I hated it even more now because it looked like Kayla and not like Kandy. And I had no idea how to explain to Delard why I just could not do to Pops Quinn what we’d done to other small business owners.
Or why I felt ashamed of some of the things we had done in the name of just doing business. Or even why, after listening to Kandis cry, I felt like the villain prince, not the hero who had given his all in the name of True Love.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It just doesn’t seem right. I can’t do it.”
Delard dropped a thin folder on the coffee table, nearly overturning the silk rose. “Maybe it’s just as well. I’ve done my best. But Charles and Jocelyn Quinn are as squeaky clean as it is possible for any humans to be. They pay their bills; they take care of their help. They go to church, and they donate small amounts to local charities. The only possible smirch on their record is their treatment of their daughter-in-law after their son’s death.”
In my head, I could hear Kandis saying, “We agreed not to give Mom any money because in a couple of days it would be all gone, and she wouldn’t even remember having a good time.”
