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His eyes narrow. “You could. That would make Liz beholden to you. Asking for handouts from you, rather than being in charge of her own money. She’ll just love that.” His smirk has me clenching my teeth.
I shake my head, not sure why I’m so sad to have the fact that my father doesn’t know or care about his daughter confirmed so thoroughly. “Liz has never cared about money.”
Stan scoffs. “Please. She’s a self-proclaimed artist.” He rolls his eyes. “You think she doesn’t care about money? Wait until she doesn’t have any. Until she has to support herself.” His eyes narrow. “What do you think will happen when she finds out the cold, hard truth that being a hippie won’t pay the bills? She may be a free spirit, but she’s proud. She’d never let you support her.”
I try to take a calming breath, but it’s no use. As much as I want to refute what he’s saying, I can’t. If on the outside chance I don’t make Moore’s more profitable, and Stan goes through with yanking her shares, Liz won’t have a dime. And even though it would be my fault, Liz would never agree to let me help her financially.
Stan gloats before continuing. “She’ll have to give up her dreams and get a real job. And since all she knows how to do is swish paint on a canvas, it’ll be a shit job at minimum wage.” His lip curls. “And she’ll have you to thank for her lot in life.”
A weight settles in my stomach. I’ve never worried about money, and a lot of that has to do with the free education I got and my last name. I never fooled myself into thinking Stan paid my way through college out of the kindness of his heart. It was expected in our level of society. He needed to keep up with appearances. Besides the degree, I’m smart. I don’t need family money. Haven’t even used it except for college tuition. But Liz. She’s still in school. And if things go wrong and she doesn’t let me help her with the bills, she probably won’t be able to finish.
And even as I think this, I realize there are ways around it. Liz is smart, and her art is well thought of by her professors. She could get a scholarship, take out a student loan. But the money wouldn’t be the worst part.
The worst would be the moment she realizes just how easily her father could cut her so cleanly from his life.
Liz is sensitive. It’s one of the things I cherish most about her, how she remains so kind and warm in the midst of the barren wasteland that is the Moore clan. Knowing how unapologetically cruel her father could be would change her in ways she’d never recover from. And just like I kept her believing in the magic of Santa Claus for as long as humanly possible, I’ve protected her from the reality of our father’s controlling dickheadedness.
My expression must show my thoughts because the smile on Stan’s face becomes more genuine.
It’s truly terrifying.
“Yes, your sister may side with you, and she may love you the most, but she’s a godforsaken, free-living hippie who still loves her family.” He glances to the door where only a few moments ago Campbell had left. “You were never my first choice to run this company, but it seems not just two, but all three of the Moore children have become disappointments.” His fists clench, probably thinking of his beloved Thomas’s abandonment. He opens the door and, like the villain he is, throws back one more parting shot. “So keep your dick in your pants and do the job you were so smug about being able to do.”
6
BELL
“Hey sweet thing, looking good!” a man shouts from scaffolding as I pass underneath. This statement is punctuated with a wolf whistle and some barking.
Damn, I’ve missed New York.
I know. I know. The construction workers’ comments are crude and objectifying, but it’s also so… New York.
Plus, I am looking good. Slim-cut cigarette pants with zippers at the ankles hug my hips, and my feet click with every step in my new shoes. New shoes that had been laid out on my bed when I’d gotten back to the hotel yesterday.
Seems the clothes I hadn’t purchased yesterday had been boxed up and sent over.
Normally, I’d refuse. I’d maintain professional boundaries. Not muddy the waters, as it were, by accepting such a lavish gift. Except the note hadn’t said From Chase. Or Mr. Moore. It had said, From the grateful staff at Moore’s, please accept with our thanks for all that you will do.
How the hell do I send that back?
I can’t. So I didn’t. Instead, I have yet another new pair of Jimmy Choos on my feet, these a modest two-inch-heel slingbacks in red.
And though these shoes are truly fabulous, my absolute favorite part of my new outfit is the top.
It’s one I hadn’t even seen yesterday, let alone tried on. Because if I had, I would’ve purchased it in a heartbeat, no matter the cost.
The cream silk blouse has a Peter Pan collar and dainty pearl buttons. But what gets me is the print. It’s almost like a modern toile print, but instead of an English countryside, it’s cowboys riding horses.
Though not the most professional of blouses, I couldn’t help but wear it today. Maybe being back in the city I love so much is making me feel both whimsical and homesick. So a top that celebrates Texas and shoes that symbolize my new client seem like a good omen for my first official day on the job.
The bakery door chimes as I enter. Fresh-baked bread and pastries perfume the air. I inhale deeply. The sweet tune of “I Just Can’t Help Believing” plays in the background, solidifying my good feelings. It’s like Mom is with me whenever I hear Elvis. And as a Texas girl born and raised, she’d also love this blouse.
“Can I help you?” A middle-aged man behind the counter in an apron and hairnet leans his forearms on top of the bakery case.
“Yes, please.” I step closer, pointing to the top basket in the case. “A dozen plain bagels and three medium containers of cream cheese. One of plain, one of strawberry walnut, and one of your lox spread.”
“Love a girl who knows what she wants.” He gives me a friendly wink and starts packing my order.
