Carter: Naked, right?
Audrey: When I picture you it's always nude.
I laugh outright at that. The conversation devolves, like it often does, and I love it. The past week with Audrey has been one of the best of my life. She's stayed at mine nearly every night.
On Tuesday she had us cook fajitas together in my kitchen. From scratch, including making tortillas. Turned out she'd only done it once before, and the place was a battlefield by the time we were done, flour everywhere. I'd mostly focused on getting flour on the tip of her upturned nose, but all jobs are equally important.
Then we'd let a movie play while I fucked her slowly on the couch, my hand working her clit, until she shook in my arms with her orgasm.
Again, all jobs are equally important.
On Wednesday we'd both had to work late from home. She'd made us popcorn and coffee, and beneath the table, I'd had my hand on her bare knee. It had been intoxicating in how comfortable it was, how happy she made me. It was the true kind, not the fleeting exhilaration of winning a business deal or seeing my name in print.
She'd left my apartment earlier than me this morning, bashful about travelling in my car without me. As if she feared it was a nuisance instead of pleasing on a deep, molecular level, the same way I felt when I saw her wearing one of my T-shirts to bed or the scent of my shampoo in her hair.
Audrey: Good luck with your meeting today, by the way.
I answer her in the elevator on my way down.
Carter: Thanks. Let me know as soon as Booker gives you proper feedback on your article, okay?
Audrey: Promise. See you tonight.
Carter: Can't wait, kid.
It's the truth, too. Most of my waking hours spent apart from her feel wasted. I nod at John in the lobby and he gives me a grin back. They've noticed my new girlfriend, too, although none of the staff in the building have mentioned it.
I make it a few strides out of my building before I stop dead.
He's standing on the sidewalk. His hair is grayer than I'd seen it last, and the lines marking his face have deepened. He looks distinguished, but smaller than I remember.
His eyes are locked on mine. "Carter," he says. "It's good to see you."
I consider walking in the other direction. Leaving him and the past behind, where it can't hurt me or anyone anymore.
But my feet won't let me. "You're here," I say. Accusation makes my voice dark.
"Yes. Sorry for ambushing you like this, son. But you didn't leave me with many options."
"Not ambushing someone outside their house is always an option."
My father smiles, like we're old friends. "You're right. But I so wanted to see you. Will you let me buy you a coffee?"
I want to say fuck no . The words dance on my tongue in burning motions. But I also hear my mother's voice in my head, and Audrey's. It's a chance to say your piece.
And a chance to tell him to stay away from me and my mother.
"Yeah. Okay. There's a place up the street," I say.
"Won't take long," he says, falling into step beside me. "I know you're a busy man now. Big company and all."
A sour taste rises in my throat. "You've read about me?"
"It was one of my favorite things in prison," he says. "You know, they give us computer access. I'd read everything published about you. Your first deal, and when you merged Kingsley Investment with Acture Capital. Smart move, that. Did it sting to lose your name in the company title?"
Damn him.
"Yes," I admit.
"Figured it did." He chuckles, his voice pleased. "I know my son. But it was necessary. Gave you the leverage you needed. You're making bank now."
So often, I'd heard him use terms like this, and as a kid I'd thought him the smartest man on Earth. Now I wonder if he really understands most of them at all. He was never interested in building businesses.
Only in stealing their assets.
"You're out of prison," I say. We've reached the coffee shop up the street, and I hold the door open for him. He steps inside and tugs off his leather gloves. How long had he waited outside my building?
"Yes," he says. "Six months now."
"Your wife must be glad."
He gives me a shrewd look. "She is," he admits, "and she isn't. It makes divorce proceedings a bit simpler."
We order two coffees, both black, and take a seat near the front. I don't take off my coat and beneath the table, I keep my leg bouncing to work off the adrenaline coursing through me. The anger is hot and heavy behind it.
Dad smiles widely. "So? How have you been?"
"You know how I've been if you've been following the news." I take a sip of the coffee. It burns. "Why did you want this meeting?"
He looks down into his cup. The edges of his mouth soften, like he's frowning. It's a look of contrition.
I don't trust it one bit.
"I did a lot of things I'm not proud of. More than you know, more than I'd mention. But one of the things I hate myself most for is what I did to your mother and you."
"Pretending to be married to her when you weren't," I say. "Pretending to work on holidays when you didn't."
He doesn't seem surprised by the acid in my voice. "Yes. All of that. And for going to prison, for disappearing from your life. For ever doing anything illegal to begin with."
"Mhm." I take another deep sip of my coffee. It feels like the only thing keeping me sane.
"I'm still your father," he says, "even if I screwed things up. And I did. But I'll be your father until the day I die, and I want… very much, Carter, to get a chance to prove to you that I'm a changed man."
I level him with a stare. I'm not nineteen anymore, green-eyed and naive. Not even twenty-five and hopeful. "You will never get a cent of my money," I say. "I will never invest in one of your start-ups, I will never call a high-powered friend on your behalf. Do you understand?"
"Yes. God, yes, that's not what I'm here for."
"I don't care if that's not what you're here for today. But one day, you'll think that thought, if you haven't in the past. And I need you to know that door is closed forever. It's fucking welded shut. Got it?"