I change and head down to the lobby, wanting to check out the pool. It's hot out, nearly a hundred degrees, even though it's late afternoon. At the pool, I order a beer and jump in the water while I wait for it to arrive.
The water is refreshingly cold. Maybe I should take up swimming instead of weightlifting if I want to clear my head, because suddenly I feel alive like I haven’t in a hell of a long time.
When I come up out of the water, I see her.
A sun-kissed, freckle-faced, bright blonde haired woman. In a barely there bikini.
Her eyes meet mine. I swear to God they do. She looks at me as if I am someone familiar. As if I’m someone she’s known forever.
Then, without so much as a glance around, she dives into the water headfirst.
I shake my head. Damn.
Rogue said I needed fun, but this feels a hell of a lot more like fate.
2
Fiona
I know Dad well enough to realize having this conversation via text message or a phone call won’t cut it. My dad is many things, protective, supportive, but above all else, a little bit old school.
I don't mind it. Honestly, it makes me feel like I'm his princess. And I figure there are worse things to be than your daddy's little girl.
Still, I'm apprehensive about this conversation. I hate the idea of letting him down.
As the family jet lands in Vegas, I repeat the words I’ve memorized. "I want to quit college. I want to make it on my own as a businesswoman." I swallow as I leave the plane, waving to our pilot, Jetson. "Thank you," I tell him, blowing a kiss.
He smiles. "Anything for an O'Grady,” he says. I appreciate the warmth that comes from the men and women that work for my family. Well, work for my father.
My dad, Cane O'Grady is an affluent businessman based in Las Vegas. He has companies all over the world, dealing in fine art and finer wines. I always laugh that he decided to make his home base Las Vegas of all places, but he loves the desert heat and his brother Liam O'Malley lives here.
I suppose my father really is a family man, even if I am his only child. My mom died when I was young. So he and I, we've been like two peas in a pod. I know eventually I'm going to have a man at my side that isn't my dad. But until then, until I find my Prince Charming or my knight in shining armor, I won't mind showing up at my dad's estate, single. Here, I am treated like royalty.
A minute later I’m tucked into a Town Car and whisked away. The air conditioning is on and I'm grateful because my skin already feels dry. It shouldn't be that big of a climate change considering I'm going to school at UCLA, but it is. The heat here is different, drier, and I don't exactly crave it. I love living near the ocean, going on runs at the beach. I've been thinking about getting a dog to help with my workout motivation. Maybe I'll bring that up to Dad as a way to ease into the conversation.
My dad wants the best for me, and for as long as I can remember, that’s meant going to college and working my butt off. But what good is a 4.0 grade point average if I'm not happy? I just have to find a way to explain that to him—gently.
When I arrive at home, I enter the foyer of the mansion. "Daddy," I call out, not sure where he is. Our housekeeper, Esmeralda, tells me he's in his study.
"Thanks so much," I say, giving her a quick hug in greeting. It's been a while since I've been back at Dad's place. For Thanksgiving, we flew to Milan. And for Christmas, we decided a trip to Tahiti would be a perfect way to celebrate the traditionally cold holiday.
Dad's in the study, just like Esmeralda said, facing his computer. He doesn't see me come in. I knock on the door with my knuckles. "Daddy," I say.
He looks up, a smile spreading across his face. "Fiona," he says, standing, forgetting his work and coming over to me. He wraps me in a warm hug and I tell him how good it is to see him again.
“Look at you,” he says.
"I've missed you," I tell him. "I can't believe it's almost summer."
"I know," he says. "I've been buried in work."
"You shouldn't work so hard, Dad. You should be enjoying your life. You should retire."
"Retire?" Dad chuckles, shaking his head as his butler, Gerard, walks in with two drinks on a tray.
"Ice-cold lemonade, sir," he says.
I smile, lifting a glass from the silver tray in his hands. "Thank you."