“The kind of asshole you constantly get involved with. Don’t you think it’s time you figured out that you’re only hurting yourself?” He leans down, gets in my face, and for the first time the icy mask he’s wearing slips and I can see the rage—and the disgust—that it’s been hiding. It jolts me a little, seeing disgust, for me, so plain on his face. And it scares me even more.
I’ve always known he doesn’t understand me, that he doesn’t respect the choices I’ve made. And I get it. I do. Hell, even I don’t respect a lot of the choices I made in the past, and that’s why I’m working so hard to turn my life around now. But to see that kind of hate on his face when he looks at me?
It hurts way more than I want it to. Way more than it should, considering the history of our relationship.
“You might not have known about that tape, Victoria, but you are still responsible for this mess,” he tells me, his voice all the more convincing for its quiet. “You’ve been running wild since you were fifteen years old, drinking too much, sleeping around, causing as much trouble as you possibly could. Every time I stepped in and tried to stop you, it just made you worse. Made you more wild, more determined to buck my authority and throw your lifestyle in my face.
“And now here we are, with you the latest punch line in a global dirty joke. Why? Because you never stop to think about who you’re hurting when you do things like this and how your actions reflect on anyone else.”
“Who I’m hurting?” I ask, for the millionth time glancing down at the image frozen on my father’s screen. “I’m the one getting hurt here. I’m the one who’s being turned into a joke!”
“And every site that runs it lists your last name—which also happens to be my last name. I have a major board meeting—preceding a major stockholder meeting—later in the week, and I need to inspire confidence in them. I’ve spent weeks trying to figure out the best way to show them that the new direction I want to take the company in is the right one. And now you go and do this? How the hell am I supposed to get them to trust me with the future of my company when I can’t even control my own daughter?”
His company. His company? I don’t even know why I’m surprised. Of course that’s what this is about. Not me, not my reputation, not how much this might hurt me. No, all that matters is the company and the price of his precious stock. Shame on me for even thinking it might be something else.
After all, this isn’t the first or the last time his business—or something else—will come before me. But still, that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit here and let him abuse me because of it.
“Look, Dad, I don’t think your shareholders, or your board, cares about what I do in my private life. All they care about is the money you make them. And that’s not going to change just because some guy screwed me over.”
“Perception changes at the drop of a hat, Victoria, and perception is everything—I just wish you would learn that and stop getting yourself involved in things like this.”
“But I wasn’t involved. Alexander is the one who recorded that tape and he’s also the one who leaked it. Believe me, I would never do something like this.”
“No, you would just prostitute yourself for the man—”
“It’s just sex, Dad. Not prostitution, not porn. Just sex, between two consenting adults—”
“I should have known you’d try to spin it that way.”
“Spin it?” I’m honestly mystified. “I’m just being honest. Alexander and I dated for a couple of months a couple of years ago. Is it really so shocking that we had sex?”
“I’m done arguing with you about this, especially when you aren’t even sorry it happened.”
“Why should I feel remorse? I keep telling you, I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Of course not. You never do.”
“That’s not true.” That’s what the whole last few weeks have been about. Making better decisions. Changing my life. Accepting myself for who I am and doing things because I want to do them and not just because I’m angry or hurt or trying to prove I’m worth loving.
“It is true and it’s time things changed. Time you learned how the real world works, young lady.”
I want to tell him that I know exactly how the real world works, but we’ve been going back and forth for fifteen minutes all to no avail. My father and I are never going to see eye-to-eye on anything and it’s ridiculous to sit here fighting about it when I have a splitting headache. Which is why I finally just give in and say, “You’re right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“You’re damn right it won’t, because I’m done. I’m finished with enabling you, finished with fixing your messes, finished with smoothing the way for you when all you do is screw up.” He grabs my forearm, pulls me up from the table, and gives me a little shove toward the bedroom. “You’ve got five minutes to pack a bag.”
“A bag?”
“You need to learn some responsibility and you’re not going to learn it as long as I’m paying for your mortgage and your car and everything else you have. So go pack a bag. Now.”
“You’re kicking me out of my condo?”
“No, I’m kicking you out of my condo.” He deliberately glances at his watch. “You’re down to four minutes and forty-five seconds.”
“You can’t mean that. I’ve lived here since sophomore year of college.”
“And now it’s time for you to live somewhere else. Four minutes and thirty seconds.”
“Dad—”