“Victor wants something, he says, but I have no idea what that could be. His mother and sons are billionaires. It seems like if he wanted something, he could just ask.”
But he didn’t. So, is the boat supposed to be blackmail?
“Don’t mention this to anyone, Brina. Ward isn’t even sure if he’ll tell Nick and Beatrice.”
“Hey, I signed the NDA, remember?” Brina winks.
“Right.” I sink back into the couch, twirling my hair. “What kind of father does this to his kids?”
“The kind who doesn’t deserve children.”
“You’re always right,” I say. We share a worried look. “You know, before today, I would’ve killed to know what makes him such a Wardhole...”
“But now?” Brina asks impatiently.
“Now, I just want to hug him.” My voice strains as I continue. “And I want him to hug me, and take away this sinking feeling that it’s about to get really, really messed up.”
16
The Big Moment (Ward)
As soon as Paige was safe at Sweeter Grind, I texted a private investigator I’ve used before and had Reese drop me at my building.
My phone buzzes.
I don’t have time for this shit, but it might be Paige again.
Nope, my PI. Damn, this guy works fast. Never mind the fact that I was wishing it was her.
He’s staying at the Express Inn near the airport, the investigator says.
That doesn’t sound right. My dad isn’t the type to settle for a place so normal—not to mention affordable.
He cares way more about his creature comforts than Nick or I ever have.
Are you sure? I send back.
The next message is an image of my father lounging on a bed in a room with stained carpet and knicks in the wall.
Fuck. He’s really staying at the Express.
So that’s a clue. He’s blown his wad again, and he’s looking for a payout to keep him in imported cigars and breezy beach rentals in the Keys.
I put a checkbook in my pocket and head for the parking garage, taking a deep breath that burns my lungs.
Now that I know what his money-grubbing ass wants, I’m less concerned.
I park the Tesla and fire off another text. What’s the room number?
Room 413. Top floor on the right side of the building, sir.
In seconds, I’m pounding up the stairs and beating his door down.
He answers in a yellowing undershirt and slacks. My nose wrinkles before I even smell the cheap booze wafting off him.
“Hey, Ward. Come on i—” He sounds like someone who expected to see me.
“How much?” I snap.
“What?”
“How fucking much will it take to get you out of my life for good? Gone from all our lives.” I sound like a meat grinder, every word flung with visceral hatred.
He clucks his tongue and levels a lazy, assessing look at me.
“Ward, Ward...you always loved to make a scene. No point in doing this in public. Why don’t you come in and have a seat?” He opens the door wider.
Now this asshole is shy? He was anything but the night he firebombed my engagement.
I hesitate.
Going in puts this on his turf, and I don’t want that.
I’ve learned the hard way not to put anything past him.
Sure, there’s a need for discretion, but who here will care about Brandt drama or even know who we are? He’s hiding like the viper he is.
Fortunately, I know a thing or two about skinning snakes.
He’ll tell me what it’ll take for him to disappear for good, or else I’m going to let him know he won’t be the first man I’ve shot.
Not that it’ll ever escalate that far. He’s too chickenshit. I stalk past him, swallowing a growl.
He shuts the door.
I survey the pea-green carpet with dark stains, the beige bedspread that’s coming apart, and the dented walls.
“Nice digs you’ve got here,” I mutter.
He gives me that cringe-inducing rattle of a laugh.
“It’s a hard life when you’ve been disinherited and thrown to the curb, son.”
For a microsecond, my eyes flinch shut. I can’t stand it when he reminds me we’re blood, cynically expecting my sympathy. Old man, that died long ago.
“Of course, you wouldn’t know about that,” he sneers in his cocksure tone. “You’re not even her kid. You’re her grandson.”
“Grandma’s still alive, you twit. There isn’t anything to inherit yet. Until her recent health crisis, she was still working. You could do the same being twenty years younger,” I bite off.
He holds up his hands, wiggling long, thin fingers.
“I wasn’t built for hard labor, Ward.”
What the fuck do I say to that? He’s telling the truth for once.
“Your parents built an empire. All you had to do was man up and run it.”
“And waste my entire life chasing more coin? Besides, you and your brother took over that role so well, don’t you think?”
“You had so many chances. If you’d just tried, Grandma would have taught you everything she knew. Just like she did for us.”