Probably not. He didn’t care about anything but himself.
It was a crisp morning. Gian parked a block away and killed the engine. “I’ll be nearby,” he said. “If your dad does anything, or tries to get you to go somewhere, you scream, okay?”
“I can’t scream,” I said, staring at him. “I’m not going to make a scene.”
He sighed and rubbed his face. “God damn, you rich girls. Just scream, okay, princess?”
I glared at him then got out of the truck and slammed the door. He could be such a dick sometimes, although I knew he meant well. I stormed down the sidewalk in flats, jeans, and a button-down shirt. It was formal enough that my father wouldn’t have any comments about it.
He was already sitting outside of the coffee place with a cup in front of himself and a cup in front of the chair across from him, presumably for me. He wore his usual dark suit and was staring at his phone, probably reading some business contract or something like that. I slowed as I approached and looked around, but he was totally alone.
“Dad,” I said once I was close.
He looked up and didn’t smile. He had lines around his eyes and his graying hair was cut short, nearly buzzed. He nodded at the chair across from him. “Sit down, Ashleigh,” he said.
I hesitated, not in the mood to take his orders, but sat anyway. I didn’t touch the cup as he watched me carefully.
“How are you?” I asked, tentative and uncertain about what this was about.
“Been better,” he said, cocking his head. “My daughter’s pregnant by some strange man.”
I looked away. “Right, yeah. I’m sure it’s really hard for you, Dad.”
“Don’t you understand how this looks for our family?” he asked. “Your mother’s going crazy with worry back home.”
“Worry about the family name,” I said, feeling a surge of anger. “She doesn’t give a crap what I’m going through.”
“And should she?” he asked, staring at me with cold, dead eyes. “After what you did to poor Stuart?”
“Poor Stuart?” I leaned toward him. “You know he’s an abusive asshole. You’ve seen the way he treats me. Were you ever going to say anything?”
Dad’s jaw clenched and worked for a moment. “Stuart is imperfect,” he said. “But I planned on handling it.”
I barked a laugh and shook my head. “Come on, that’s not true. You were going to ignore it and hope it was never a problem. So long as I gave the family babies and kept my mouth shut, you’d keep going on making your money and not giving a crap about what happened to me.”
He took a deep breath as if controlling himself and let it out. “I’m not here to discuss Stuart with you,” he said.
“Then what do you want?” I asked.
“I’m here to make a deal.” His eyes stared into mine and I felt freezing cold suddenly, even though the sun bore down over the buildings and warmed my skin.
“What deal?” I asked.
“I’m giving you seven days to come home,” he said. “Seven days to return back home and let us figure out how we’ll handle your little misfortune.” He gestured at me vaguely.
“You mean my baby,” I said. “The baby that I very much plan on keeping.”
He made a face and nodded. “Seven days to come home. If you don’t, then I will revoke you from the will and lock your trust fund. You’ll be cut off, Ashleigh, kicked out of the family, and good luck living on your own. Or do you really think the man that got you pregnant’s going to take care of you?”
“I can take care of myself,” I said, feeling my anger rapidly rising. “I don’t need either of you.”
Dad gave me a flat stare. “Ash, you’ve never once worked a day in your life. You don’t know the first thing about surviving in this world, and if you stay with that man, with that animal, then you’re going to learn the hard way.”
“I bet you’d like that,” I said, crossing my arms.
“I wouldn’t,” he said, but he didn’t sound very convincing. “If you come home, we’ll reinstate you. You’ll help you with the baby. And we can discuss what we’ll do about Stuart.”
I groaned, leaning my head back. “I just told you that Stuart’s abusive, and you still think I might marry him.”
“Ashleigh—”
“No,” I said, cutting him off, and met his gaze. “You need to understand this. I’m never, ever, ever going to marry Stuart. No matter what you do, I’m not going to marry him. It won’t happen.”
He was quiet for a moment. His fingers turned the cup in front of him in circles, the porcelain scraping against itself, then nodded once. “If you say so,” he said. “But you have one week to decide.”
“Dad—”
He stood up abruptly, nearly knocking his chair over. He stared down at me with so much loathing that it almost made me sick.