In Your Corner
Page 12
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“She told me she lost her job,” the cab driver interjects.
Hmmm. Maybe he’s not so great after all. Kinda meddlesome. And violating my right to privacy. Doesn’t he know what’s said in the cab is supposed to stay in the cab?
“I got the feeling she was going off the rails,” he says, clearly unable to read my thoughts. “I tried to talk her out of it.”
Jake’s face tightens. “What do you mean she lost her job? I saw her at her office last week.” The blood drains from his face. “When?”
“She said it happened last Friday.”
“Friday?” Jake’s strangled tone has me shaking my head. “Fuck. It’s because of me. It’s my fault.”
My heart squeezes at the pain in his voice. I want to tell him it isn’t his fault. I want to tell him it would have happened anyway.
But the words don’t come. Instead I close my eyes and succumb to the darkness.
Jake’s anguished face is the last thing I see.
***
“I have never been so disappointed in my life.”
My father brushes off his gray Hugo Boss suit and glares at me across the hospital room. Although he’s almost fifty-five, women still think he’s quite a catch with his piercing blue eyes, trim body, and square jaw. But I think my mom was the catch. Five years younger than my father, her soft blond hair curls gently around a perfect oval of a face, and her eyes are a soft blue, like a summer sky.
“Your mother called Farnsworth to tell him you wouldn’t be in to work and he told her…” He draws in a ragged breath and turns to my mother. “Tell her, Viv. Tell her what we had to hear from one of our dearest friends.”
Head fuzzy from painkillers and still dazed after being rudely awakened by my father’s bark of anger, I tilt my head to the side and frown. Well, at least they aren’t going to bother asking how I am.
My mother shakes her head and sighs. “He said you were worried you weren’t on the partnership track so you propositioned him. He was mortified, especially since you’re his best friend’s daughter. He said if it had been anyone else, he would have reported you to the State Bar, but as a favor to our family, he just asked you to leave.”
I draw in a sharp breath, inhaling the scent of antiseptic and the faint floral fragrance of my mother’s perfume. Farnsworth’s story is already in play, but he took a risk that my parents would believe his story over mine. Or maybe it was no risk at all.
“He’s lying.” My voice is a soft rasp, barely audible over the beeping of the machines beside me. “He propositioned me.”
My father gives a bitter laugh. “As if I would believe you. Do you think we didn’t know what went on in the house when we were working hard to put a roof over your head? Even now, every time we see you, you have a different boyfriend in tow. A person who is incapable of sustaining a stable relationship wouldn’t think twice about offering herself up to get ahead.”
Mom puts a hand on his arm. “Stan. I think you’ve made your point. She’s been hurt. We should let her rest. Why don’t you wait in the hall?”
Shocked, my father and I both stare. Mom never took sides between my father and me when I lived at home. She listened, kept her own counsel, and then sent me to my room. Except this time, I’m already in my room. Maybe that’s the reason for her first ever attempt to diffuse the hostility that permeates my relationship with my father—the hostility that began the day I dared to be born a girl. Disappointment number one.
Unfortunately, my father doesn’t heed Mom’s warning. He’s on his high horse and clearly determined to ride it to the end.
“Rest? She had all morning to rest and she was well enough to give a statement to the police. She needs to understand the extent of my frustration. Imagine. I was pulled out of bed on a trial prep weekend because our daughter, a Westwood, was found at a sleazy bar in Ghost Town.” He scowls in my direction. “You certainly got what you deserved. You should have known better than to go to a place like that.”
“You’re being a bit harsh.” My mother taps my father lightly on the elbow. “She’s obviously learned her lesson. Look at her. She’s…injured.” Mom’s voice cracks. I am disconcerted by her unexpected show of emotion. I must look pretty bad.
“Harsh? She’ll never be a partner at any law firm in California. After propositioning Farnsworth, she’ll never get a reference, and if people find out what she did, they won’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.”
“He tried to blackmail me,” I croak. But before I can explain, my father cuts me off with a cruel laugh.
“As if I would believe that. A girl like you? You’re a goddamn sl—”
“Stan.” My mother interrupts. “She’s our daughter and I’m sure she knows she’s let us down.” She takes a step toward the door, urging my father forward, only to stop short when a tall figure dressed in black brushes past her.
Jake.
My foggy brain, already struggling to keep up with the family nightmare, freezes at the breathtaking sight of his hard, muscular body clad in a leather biker jacket and low-slung jeans.
“Am I interrupting something?” He casually interposes himself between my father and my bed.
My father pulls himself up to his full six-foot height, but he still has to look up to meet Jake’s gaze. “Who the hell are you?”
“Jake Donovan.” He tosses his helmet on the bedside chair and folds his arms, treating me to an up close and personal view of his broad back and tight ass.
Hmmm. Maybe he’s not so great after all. Kinda meddlesome. And violating my right to privacy. Doesn’t he know what’s said in the cab is supposed to stay in the cab?
“I got the feeling she was going off the rails,” he says, clearly unable to read my thoughts. “I tried to talk her out of it.”
Jake’s face tightens. “What do you mean she lost her job? I saw her at her office last week.” The blood drains from his face. “When?”
“She said it happened last Friday.”
“Friday?” Jake’s strangled tone has me shaking my head. “Fuck. It’s because of me. It’s my fault.”
My heart squeezes at the pain in his voice. I want to tell him it isn’t his fault. I want to tell him it would have happened anyway.
But the words don’t come. Instead I close my eyes and succumb to the darkness.
Jake’s anguished face is the last thing I see.
***
“I have never been so disappointed in my life.”
My father brushes off his gray Hugo Boss suit and glares at me across the hospital room. Although he’s almost fifty-five, women still think he’s quite a catch with his piercing blue eyes, trim body, and square jaw. But I think my mom was the catch. Five years younger than my father, her soft blond hair curls gently around a perfect oval of a face, and her eyes are a soft blue, like a summer sky.
“Your mother called Farnsworth to tell him you wouldn’t be in to work and he told her…” He draws in a ragged breath and turns to my mother. “Tell her, Viv. Tell her what we had to hear from one of our dearest friends.”
Head fuzzy from painkillers and still dazed after being rudely awakened by my father’s bark of anger, I tilt my head to the side and frown. Well, at least they aren’t going to bother asking how I am.
My mother shakes her head and sighs. “He said you were worried you weren’t on the partnership track so you propositioned him. He was mortified, especially since you’re his best friend’s daughter. He said if it had been anyone else, he would have reported you to the State Bar, but as a favor to our family, he just asked you to leave.”
I draw in a sharp breath, inhaling the scent of antiseptic and the faint floral fragrance of my mother’s perfume. Farnsworth’s story is already in play, but he took a risk that my parents would believe his story over mine. Or maybe it was no risk at all.
“He’s lying.” My voice is a soft rasp, barely audible over the beeping of the machines beside me. “He propositioned me.”
My father gives a bitter laugh. “As if I would believe you. Do you think we didn’t know what went on in the house when we were working hard to put a roof over your head? Even now, every time we see you, you have a different boyfriend in tow. A person who is incapable of sustaining a stable relationship wouldn’t think twice about offering herself up to get ahead.”
Mom puts a hand on his arm. “Stan. I think you’ve made your point. She’s been hurt. We should let her rest. Why don’t you wait in the hall?”
Shocked, my father and I both stare. Mom never took sides between my father and me when I lived at home. She listened, kept her own counsel, and then sent me to my room. Except this time, I’m already in my room. Maybe that’s the reason for her first ever attempt to diffuse the hostility that permeates my relationship with my father—the hostility that began the day I dared to be born a girl. Disappointment number one.
Unfortunately, my father doesn’t heed Mom’s warning. He’s on his high horse and clearly determined to ride it to the end.
“Rest? She had all morning to rest and she was well enough to give a statement to the police. She needs to understand the extent of my frustration. Imagine. I was pulled out of bed on a trial prep weekend because our daughter, a Westwood, was found at a sleazy bar in Ghost Town.” He scowls in my direction. “You certainly got what you deserved. You should have known better than to go to a place like that.”
“You’re being a bit harsh.” My mother taps my father lightly on the elbow. “She’s obviously learned her lesson. Look at her. She’s…injured.” Mom’s voice cracks. I am disconcerted by her unexpected show of emotion. I must look pretty bad.
“Harsh? She’ll never be a partner at any law firm in California. After propositioning Farnsworth, she’ll never get a reference, and if people find out what she did, they won’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.”
“He tried to blackmail me,” I croak. But before I can explain, my father cuts me off with a cruel laugh.
“As if I would believe that. A girl like you? You’re a goddamn sl—”
“Stan.” My mother interrupts. “She’s our daughter and I’m sure she knows she’s let us down.” She takes a step toward the door, urging my father forward, only to stop short when a tall figure dressed in black brushes past her.
Jake.
My foggy brain, already struggling to keep up with the family nightmare, freezes at the breathtaking sight of his hard, muscular body clad in a leather biker jacket and low-slung jeans.
“Am I interrupting something?” He casually interposes himself between my father and my bed.
My father pulls himself up to his full six-foot height, but he still has to look up to meet Jake’s gaze. “Who the hell are you?”
“Jake Donovan.” He tosses his helmet on the bedside chair and folds his arms, treating me to an up close and personal view of his broad back and tight ass.
