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“Is this the second interview?” I ask, the whisky making me an asshole.
“No. That ship has sailed,” my father says and even though I knew, my heart still sinks.
“Well, there’s nothing to talk about. Hence me being here and not there. So why are you here?” I ask, sitting up.
“Because you are my son and I love you.”
I stand and get him a glass, then drop it in front of him, and pour.
Ward reaches for it and leans back, taking a small sip.
Cool, calm, and collected.
The way he’s always been.
“You couldn’t give me a few days to lick my damn wounds?” A dry laugh escapes me.
“No. You might be a grown man, but you’re still my child.” Ward sips again.
“Which is the problem, isn’t it? You see me as a child and always will.”
“You were the one who fucked her.” He shrugs.
Touche.
That might be true, and he might have a point, but I don’t like the way he worded it.
Crass.
Payton isn’t just a fuck. I might talk dirty to her, but hearing someone else speaking about her like that doesn’t sit right with me at all.
“Don’t speak about Payton like that,” I say with an edge.
Ward’s brow lifts.
“You’ve cost Payton her job. And your own,” he says, leaning forward and dropping the glass on the table. “You either love her or you are nowhere near ready to lead a company. And I daresay be a partner to someone like her.”
God fucking damn him.
I want to throw my glass across the room.
I stand and run my hands through my hair. “She shouldn’t be punished. I forced her.”
“You forced her? Jesus, Knox. You raped her?”
“No.”
Shit, did I?
I stare out the window into the dark night and think. No, it’s how I fuck. I’m rough and dominant, and if she’d really meant no, I would have stopped.
“I didn’t rape her. It’s complicated between us.”
“There should’ve never been a you and her. I’ll ask you again, do you love her?” my father asks.
Shit.
I can’t do this.
