“Your mother and I made a lot of mistakes when you were growing up, Weston. We were so worried about your future, we forgot to live in the present. You spent too much time alone or with other people raising you.” He sighs. “I’m sorry about that.” His apology is sobering. He never says the ‘s’ word. “I know I can’t go back and change the past, but I’d like to move forward together. Whatever pickle you’ve landed in, we can work past it. But first, you have to tell me what’s going on.”
Like a dam with a leak, I pour everything out.
“West, you can’t stay there. You know that, don’t you, son? If he gets away with this, what’s to stop him from doing the same thing with another issue?”
“Nothing,” I croak.
“You’d be selling yourself into some sort of slavery.”
“But everything I’ve given to the company—”
“Will look damn good in a resume, or ...” The line goes silent.
“Dad?”
“May even be the experience you need to open your own company. Or a branch of Rebel. You said Scott likes working with you, right?”
“Dad, I couldn’t steal a client.” The idea lit a dangerous spark. I’d love to see the expression on Alby’s face if that happened.
“From what I’m hearing, he’s never going to be a client. You need to walk away from this with your hands clean.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Alby would tie me up with litigations.”
“What he’s trying to force you to do is illegal as hell.”
“Yes, but it’s my word against his.”
“Not if you have proof.” I can hear the wheels in my Dad’s head turning. “I have a plan. Just hang in there a few more days, kid. We’ll get you out from under that asshole’s thumb. Do you think you can stomach the role you’re playing a little longer?”
“Yes.” A light is shining at the end of the tunnel. I’m not alone anymore.
“All right, here’s what we’re going to do ...”
I listen intently, growing more confident with each minute that we can pull this off.
“Now the other part you’ll need your mother for. I’m good at helping the guy get the girl, not keeping her.”
“Yeah, you’re lucky you’re cute,” Mom’s voice comes over the line. “Wes, honey, I heard the conversation you had with your dad. Who is this mystery woman?”
“Adora.”
“Your personal assistant?”
“Yes.”
“You can transfer one-hundred dollars to my bank account in the morning,” my mom says.
“It was his assistant?” Dad asks in the background.
“Mom! You were betting?”
“The way that girl put up with you and whipped you into shape, it had to be more than duty,” Mom says.
“I was doing fine before she was hired.”
“If by fine you mean running around like a chicken with its head cut off, and forgetting major events, sure.”
“Am I the only one who didn’t realize?”