Chapter 139 The maid daughter

Chapter 139 The maid daughter
~ANNETTE'S POV~

I left before Darla woke up.

I had kissed her forehead, tucked the duvet around her shoulders, and slipped out of the apartment while the smell of the pancakes I had made still stayed in the air. 

It felt like a betrayal, leaving her like that after the night we shared. After the softness. After the love.

But softness wouldn't save us. Leverage would.

Now, I sat in a high-backed leather booth at Le Bernardin, staring at my phone.

Darla Calling...

My heart squeezed. She was awake. She was wondering where I was.

I couldn't answer. If I heard her voice..., sleepy, confused, worried....I would crack. And I couldn't afford to crack. Not today. I was about to walk into a cage with a tiger, and I needed to be made of steel.

I read her text preview: 'Annette? Where did you go? Please call me.'

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

I held the power button down until the screen went black. 

"You have some nerve."

The voice was like grinding stone. I looked up.

Brad Sterling stood over the table, glaring at me like I was a cockroach he'd found in his soup. 

My father. 

The man who had given me his DNA but none of his love. He looked impeccable in his Italian suit, but his eyes were bloodshot. 

Stressed.

"Hello, Father," I said, my voice steady. "You're late."

"Late?" He scoffed, pulling out the chair opposite me and sitting down with a heavy sigh. "You have the audacity to summon me....a busy man....to lunch after the stunt you pulled? Running away? Ignoring my calls?"

"Please," I said, leaning back and crossing my legs. "You aren't busy, Dad. You're just angry that your favorite punching bag wasn't around to absorb your rage this week."

His face went red. "How dare you..."

"Or maybe," I continued, cutting him off, "you've been busy cleaning up Monica's mess. How is that going, by the way? The police seem very interested in the Sterling family assets these days."

He stared at me, his mouth hanging open slightly. He wasn't used to this Annette. He was used to the girl who flinched. 

The girl who apologized for existing.

"This better be good," he growled.

A waiter approached the table, looking terrified. He sensed the tension radiating off my father like heat off pavement.

"Good afternoon," the boy stammered. "Can I... can I start you off with..."

"I am not here for food," Brad snapped, not even looking at him. "Get lost."

The waiter froze, clutching his notepad. I lowered my menu slowly. I fixed my father with a cold, hard look.

"Sit down, Father," I said.

He blinked. "I am sitting."

"Then act like a human being," I said, my voice dripping with ice. "This is the first time I am treating you to lunch. The least you can do is accept it politely and stop scaring the poor boy. He looks like he's about to pee his pants."

I turned a dazzling, fake smile on the waiter. "He's just cranky. Low blood sugar. We will take a bottle of the '09 Cabernet. And give us a moment to order."

The waiter let out a shaky laugh. "Of... of course, Ma'am. Take your time." He scurried away.

My father cleared his throat, adjusting his tie. He picked up the menu, using it as a shield. "You've become insolent."

"I've become necessary," I corrected.

We ordered in tense silence. Once the waiter retreated again, my father dropped the menu and leaned over the table.

"Why are we here, Annette? Speak."

"We're here to discuss the preservation of the Sterling name," I said calmly. "And the fact that you need help to prevent our total ruin."

Brad laughed. It was a harsh, dismissive sound. 

"You? Interested in the business? Since when? You were always too busy crying or reading your little books to care about the legacy."

"I was always interested," I said, tracing the stem of my water glass. "You were just too busy hovering around Monica to notice. You were too busy grooming the wrong horse."

He narrowed his eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," I said, meeting his gaze, "that Monica is finished. She's wanted for fraud, embezzlement, drug distribution, and assault. The board knows it. The public knows it. Blackwood Industries has a new Acting CEO because Richard is deposed. The walls are closing in, Dad."

"We will weather it," he insisted, though he looked unsure. "Monica is smart. She'll..."

"She's useless," I said. The word felt good. Heavy. "She's a liability. And you know it."

I leaned forward.

"Is that why you suddenly need your family?" he sneered. "Did Claire and Alexander's protection finally run out? Did you realize you're nothing without the Sterling name?"

"I didn't befriend Claire because I needed protection," I lied smoothly. "I befriended her because I wanted connections. I wanted to create a bridge. If I'm going to take over Sterling Corps, I need allies in Hayes International."

My father went still. "What did you say?"

"I said," I smiled, "you're giving the company to me."

SLAM.

His hand hit the table hard enough to make the silverware jump. Heads turned from nearby tables. I didn't flinch.

"You are out of your mind," he hissed. "You think I would hand my legacy to you? The daughter of a..."

"Don't say it," I warned, my voice dropping. "Not here."

I took a sip of water.

"You don't have a choice, Father. You can't hand it to Monica. She's a fugitive. The board will revolt. The stocks will tank. You need a clean face. A Sterling who isn't currently being hunted by the FBI."

"I will stay CEO," he argued.

"For how long?" I asked. "Until the press finds out you're hiding a fugitive?"

His face drained of color. He looked around the restaurant, paranoid.

"I know you're helping her," I whispered. "I know she called you. I know you're funneling money to keep her hidden."

He didn't deny it. He just stared at me with hatred and fear.

"I have to help her," he muttered, almost to himself. "She's my daughter."

It made me sick. After everything she did—the drugs, the lies, the violence—he still protected her. He still had a heart for her. But for me? I was just a negotiation.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and hardened my heart.

"Here is the deal," I said. "You announce me as the new VP of Operations. You give me a seat on the board. You groom me to take over."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I call that lovely reporter from the Times who has been circling the building," I said cheerfully. "I give her the scoop on where Monica is hiding. I tell her who is funding her escape. I show her the receipts."

"You're threatening your own father?"

"I'm making you an offer," I corrected. "A good one. I save the company. I keep your secret. And you get to retire without going to prison for aiding and abetting."

The waiter returned with our food. We sat in silence as he placed the plates down. My father didn't look at his steak. He looked at me. He was considering me. 

Seeing me, really seeing me, for the first time.

"I will think about it," he said finally.

"Don't think too long, Daddy," I said, picking up my fork. "My mouth might get itchy. I might accidentally spill a secret."

He let out a short, incredulous laugh. He shook his head.

"If I give you a seat," he said slowly, "you keep your mouth shut about Monica. Permanently."

"Done."

"You know," he said, picking up his wine glass. "You're a sly fox, Annette. I always underestimated you." He looked almost... proud. 

"If you had acted like this since you came into my house—if you had shown this kind of teeth—maybe we would have had a good relationship."

The comment cut deeper than any insult. He was saying he could have loved me, if only I had been crueler. If only I had been more like him.

I picked up my glass, fighting the urge to throw the wine in his face.

"Agreed," I said, my voice hollow. "Monica might be a bitch, but she was a better sister to me than anyone else in that house was. Even if I knew she was using me."

"We all use each other, Annette. That's business."

I scoffed. I couldn't help it.

"Please, Father," I said, my mask slipping just enough to show the disgust underneath. "You hated me because I reminded you of your mistake. You refused to see me as anything past the daughter of a maid you had a little fling with."

I glared at him over the rim of my glass.

"So stop the fatherly act. It sickens me. We are partners now. nothing more."

I drank the wine. It tasted like victory. And it tasted like rot.

I had the leverage. I had the seat. 

But as I looked at the man across from me, the man who only respected me now that I was blackmailing him, I realized I had lost something too.

I had lost the last tiny hope that he would ever just be my dad.

"Eat your steak, Father," I said. "We have work to do."