"When I cut you off from your trust, I was hoping you would start making better decisions. I didn't think you were going to make an even bigger ass out of yourself. Honestly, I didn't think that was possible."
"Gee, thanks, Dad." I got up and paced the trailer. "I forgot how belittling you are, but this is bringing it all back. Every little belittle."
"You need to grow up, Kyle." Pierce blew out a disgusted, angry huff. I could just picture his square face ruddy with frustration.
I wasn't sure exactly when it was that I'd changed from his promising only son to the bane of his existence, but it might have been when I crashed his brand-new Lexus SUV into a ditch when I was drunk. And then got arrested for it. And then tried to lie to him about it.
It didn't help that after he'd paid for my legal defense and somehow gotten me acquitted—even though I was clearly guilty—I continued to spend more of his money. I continued to drink and party and surf. Bottle service was a nightly event for me. I continued to refuse to get a job, even though he graciously off
ered me a job after all of the stupid and dangerous things I'd done.
It might have been somewhere around that time that his feelings changed. That he finally gave up.
"Dad, you need to listen to me—"
"I don't have time to discuss your feelings," Pierce said. "I don't care. I called because you can't date your stepsister. That's a new low, Kyle, and I know you're just doing it to get back at me. You know what her mother did to me."
"Actually, I'm not doing it to get back at you. Not at all. Although if it bothers you, I suppose that's a bonus."
"I don't know what I've done to make you hate me," he said, seemingly out of the blue.
I recoiled. I didn't hate my father. I was a little afraid of him and I was pissed at him for cutting me off, but I didn't hate him. "I don't hate you. I'm not thrilled that you took away all my money, but I don't hate you. My thing with Lowell isn't about you."
He didn't answer for a second. "You can't tell me you have feelings for this girl. You two couldn't stand each other growing up."
"She's nice now," I said. "And really pretty, in case you hadn't noticed. But it's actually a little more complicated than that."
Pierce sighed in what sounded like defeat. "What the hell does that mean?"
"You don't want to know." Suddenly my headache subsided. Because for the first time in a long time, I was telling my father the truth.
"Well, I'll make it simple," he snapped. "You break up with this girl, or I'll leak it to the press that you two are related. We'll see how you both like that. We'll see what happens to her little acting career then."
Anger flared within me. Pierce was demanding, difficult, and used to getting his way—but he wasn't going to run this show. I wouldn't let him.
"You might not want to do that," I said, my tone a warning. "There's actually more to the story, and you're not going to want anyone to know it."
Lowell
My stomach was pitted with dread as I headed into the meeting. Cristina, Lucas's habitually unfriendly assistant, was waiting outside the conference room. She crossed her arms in disapproval when she saw me.
"Hey there," she said, as if I'd come all the way from Echo Park just to ruin her day. "They're waiting for you. They're totally pissed about what you did, obviously."
"Obviously," I said.
"Good luck," she said sourly.
"Gee… thanks."
My palms were slick with sweat as I went through the door, but I straightened my back and took a deep breath. I composed my face so that I looked calm and collected. I was a famous actress for a reason, dammit. I could look calm for a meeting. I wasn't gonna let a little tequila—okay, a lot of tequila—come between my dreams and me.
But the little voice in the back of my head kept asking, Am I on my way up? Or am I on my way back down?
Eight men were sitting at the table, waiting. Eight of the mansplainers I'd been complaining about. They collectively frowned at me. Lucas was at the head of the table, wearing the biggest frown of all. His grey hair stood up in a wild, artfully crafted swirl. His tortoiseshell glasses made him look intelligent, which he was, and easy-going, which he was not.
"Lowell." He nodded curtly. "Take a seat."
I felt as though he was the principal and I was about to get a ruler across my knuckles. Or my ass.