Thirty-Two
Jenner
“Fuck,” Ford said as he stared at me from the other side of my desk. “That’s some serious shit.”
Dominick and I had just finished filling him in on everything that had gone down at the restaurant last night and then the drinking that had transpired at Dominick’s house after.
I’d been buried in meetings all day, and this was the first opportunity I’d had to catch up with my little brother.
As we sat in my office, Dominick poured us drinks. My hangover from last night was just barely lifting, and the scotch wasn’t going down as easily as I wanted.
“What has Jo said about all this?” Ford asked.
“We haven’t talked that much,” I admitted. “I called her when I got home from Dominick’s. I was a drunken fucking mess. I barely remember what she said. And our conversation this morning was brief—both of us were running late to work and heading into meetings.” I pushed the glass toward my computer, getting it farther away from me. “This is the first time I’ve been free all day.”
“I wonder what it was like for her, facing her father at work today,” Dominick said.
“Me too,” I replied. “Hell, she had to face him when I left the restaurant. I’m curious what he said to her and what she said to him.”
“So, now what?” Ford asked. “Do you carry on like the conversation with Walter never happened? Do you put things on pause with Jo—”
“Fuck no. There’s no pause,” I said, cutting him off. “Jo Spade is mine. I came clean. I did the right thing. If he doesn’t want to work with me anymore, that’s on him. But it’s not going to affect my relationship with his daughter.”
“Says the dude who was never going to fall in love,” Ford joked.
I flipped him off at the same time my phone vibrated, and I lifted it out of my pocket, staring at the screen.
“Jesus …” I groaned. “Speak of the goddamn devil.”
Walter: Let’s talk. Meet me in the bar of my hotel.
“Walter?” Dominick asked. “What did he say?”
I glanced up from my phone. “He wants to meet up at his hotel.”
Dominick came back with, “Don’t burn the place down, please. It’s my favorite spot in LA.”
I looked at my brother. “Is it?”
“That’s where I met Kendall.”
“Oh shit, that’s right,” I replied. The grand opening was the night he had met his girl on the rooftop. “Don’t worry; nothing is going up in flames this evening.”
My thumbs hit the screen, typing out a reply.
Me: I’ll be there in 15 minutes.
As I stood from my chair, grabbing my jacket from the back of it, Ford said, “What the fuck are you going to say to him?”
I slipped my arms through the holes, adjusting the front on my chest. “Don’t know.”
“That you’re going to date his daughter whether he likes it or not?” Dominick challenged.
I chuckled. “Sure, I’ll use those exact words, and we’ll see how well that goes over.”
“I’m glad it’s you and not me,” Ford said. “I have enough drama in my life between having a four-year-old and needing a full-time nanny.”
“And then there’s baby mama,” Dominick added.
“We don’t talk about baby mama,” Ford snapped back.
“Listen,” I said to them, “while you two bitch this out—or whatever you’re doing—I’m going to go.”
When I reached my doorway, I heard, “Good luck,” and I kept walking down the hallway and into the garage, where my driver was waiting for me.
“Spade Hotel,” I told him, and I looked at the screen of my phone, tapping the necessary buttons to call Jo.
After three rings, her voice mail picked up, and I started my message. “It’s me,” I said. “I’m on my way to meet your father. He wants to talk. I’ll call you when I get out.” A beat passed, and I added, “I love you.”
My office wasn’t far from the hotel, which had made it convenient when Walter was in the thick of construction, the short commute allowing me to get there fast and promptly.
Something my client had appreciated at the time.
Now, there wasn’t a fucking thing about me that Walter liked.
In the few minutes it took us to arrive, I replied to a couple emails and watched the hotel come into view. Once Steven pulled up to the lobby, the bellhop opened my door.
“Welcome,” the bellhop said. “Will you be staying with us this evening?”
“No, just visiting,” I told him.
I walked inside, veering toward the right, where the bar took up a large section of the lobby. Walter had had a heavy influence on the design of the bar, all of it done in dark wood and drab colors—an old-school feel in a modern space.
I saw him the moment I rounded the corner, sitting at the bar, his hands wrapped around a tumbler.
I held my breath as I closed the distance between us, standing behind the chair next to his. “Can I take a seat?”
He nodded.
The bartender immediately approached and said, “What can I get you to drink?”
I pointed at Walter’s glass. “I’ll have whatever he’s having.”
A quick peek around the room told me we were far from being alone. He’d chosen a public spot, where eyes were everywhere, ears were open. The last thing his PR team would want was to hear that Walter had given his lawyer a verbal lashing in front of hotel guests.
This was going to be civil.
I just didn’t know which way he was swaying.