Page 54 of Wait for Him

It started before I'd even cleared the elevator this morning.

Frank was waiting, as I knew he would be, all five-foot-three, bald and pudgy inches of him strutting out ahead of me and throwing an arm toward his office like he was directing traffic. He might as well have been holding a leash and clicking his tongue.

“Marc. My office. Now.”

I followed him in and shut the door, but I didn't bother taking the chair.

“My daughter tells me you didn't come home last night.” Frank rounded his desk and lowered himself into the ridiculous leather throne he insists on calling an office chair. “Have we not discussed this numerous times? Do I need to remind you what's at stake here?”

My jaw tightened, but I kept the rest of my expression where it belonged. I folded my arms over my chest and leaned back against the closed door.

“A friend needed a hand.”

“A friend.”

“Yes, Frank. That's generally what we call people we have friendships with.”

His eyes narrowed.

I knew I was pushing buttons I shouldn't push, but fuck, I'd had enough of his power-play bullshit before breakfast.

“And like I've told you before, I'm not your puppet. You got your marriage. I wear the ring, show up where I'm supposed to show up, smile for the pictures and play devoted husband whenever you've got an audience that needs convincing. I'm in this for the next two years, to the fucking day, and I'll count every one of them out loud if you want.”

His mouth flattened.

“But if a friend needs me, I'll go. If I need a night away from your high-and-drunk-half-the-time daughter, I'll take one. You bought the arrangement, Frank. You didn't buy every fucking minute of my life.”

“Watch yourself, son.”

Son.

It hits me the way it always does. A little proprietary, a little fond, like he built me himself and occasionally likes to admire the craftsmanship.

I push off the door.

“That all? Because I've actually got a job to do.” I reach for the handle. “You might mention the concept to your daughter sometime. See if it fits.”

“Get the hell out of my office.”

“Gladly.”

My hand closes around the handle.

“Before you make me forget this whole arrangement and send your daddy away for the rest of his natural life," he adds with a smugness that makes me want to put my fucking fist through his face.

For a second, I keep my hand exactly where it is and stare at the door.

I tell myself not to turn around, because that's exactly what he wants. He wants to see the threat land across my face. Wants the reminder that he still owns the one piece of me I haven't managed to buy back from him.

Yet, I turn anyway.

Frank is sitting behind his desk with his hands folded comfortably over his stomach.

Calm.

The motherfucker is always calm when he reminds me why I'm married to his daughter.

“You got something else to say, Marc?”