I growl and grip the counter tight to keep me from jumping over it and smacking that beautiful smile off his face. He is one smug bastard. I can’t stand guys like him. It only makes it worse he’s acting like he doesn’t even know who I am. “You’re welcome to leave any time you want. I don’t need you to pick my brain or anything else connected to me or my family’s business!”
“Holly!” my father warns so loudly I jump. “In my office now!”
A quick check of my dad’s face tells me he’s not joking around. With his eyes narrowed at me, he points his long, bony finger at his door. Even the vein in his forehead is popping out beneath his dark-brown hair. That little monster is usually reserved for when I’m in really deep shit. I stare up at Dad and nod.
I swallow hard and glance down at the counter, instantly feeling guilty for upsetting my dad. I don’t enjoy disappointing him. He’s got enough on his plate to worry about with the business collapsing, without having an unruly twenty-year-old daughter on his hands.
Just before I hang my head down, I glance at Trip and he frowns. I should apologize, it’s the right thing to do, but with guys like him I just can’t bring myself to do it. Egotistical pretty-boys think an apology is an invitation into my pants. No way do I want to give him that impression. He had his chance last night and he blew it. He won’t be getting another.
I straighten my back, stiffen my shoulders and march into my father’s office without giving Trip Douglas a second look.
Last year, in an attempt to bring in extra income, my dad converted his office into storage rental for customers that needed a place to store their bikes and equipment. The cramped space that was once a broom closet is now what my father calls an office. A small metal desk sits in the in the center and hogs every inch of space—and most of the oxygen—in the room. The space is what some people would consider claustrophobic. There’s no relaxing view. Hell, there’s not even a window, but I like it. It’s quiet my escape when I need to collect my thoughts when my day gets too crazy.
The bland white walls are covered with photographs of my father smiling—pictures of him with MX sponsors, pro-athletes, me, Jackson and even Grace, A.K.A. my mom. Don’t let the name fool you—there’s nothing graceful about the woman who is nothing more than my egg donor. She’s part of the reason this business is failing and why my life is slowly being sucked down the drain. The photos are a constant reminder that my once-happy life is now non-existent, which is pretty freaking depressing. Come to think of it, next time my father’s out of sight I’m taking those pictures of her down and torching them. I hate being reminded of her. It’s bad enough I look so much like her.
Dad follows behind me and shuts the door. After he squeezes around me, he plops down in his squeaky, green chair that’s older than I am—it even has the duct-tape to prove it.
He shuffles the piles of papers around on his desk. It’s the signature move he does while he gathers his thoughts—it gives the impression he’s busy.
I know what he’s going to say even before he does and I open my mouth to apologize, but he beats me to the punch.
“Holly, I know this is hard for you. It’s hard for me too, bringing a stranger in and allowing him access to everything I’ve—this family—has worked so hard for all these years. I don’t like it any more than you do, but these are the cards we’ve been dealt, honey. If this man doesn’t help us, we’ll lose everything.” I see the sadness in his eyes as he explains.
I hear what he’s saying and I completely understand, but my reservations still stick. If I could tell him why I don’t think Trip can be trusted, maybe he would see my side, but I know I can’t do that. Not without appearing sleazy for throwing myself at a random man in a bar. I would get the “I raised you better than that” speech. “But, Dad, this guy? He doesn’t look like he knows anything about running a business. Did you get a good look at him? He looks like every other biker we’ve seen on the track, and you know they aren’t always the brightest crayons in the box.”
Dad drags his fingers through his thinning hair. His hair, like the rest of his body is withering away. He’s lost so much weight over the last couple months—it makes his six-foot-two frame seem even taller. The stress is really getting to him. “Holly, I know what this place means to you. I’m grateful that you left school and to come home and help me out, but this place isn’t your cross to bear. It’s mine. This place is my dream, and it makes me feel like I failed as your father because I willingly allowed you to throw away your dream of finishing college to come back here to help me. If I can just get this place back into the black you can go back to school, like you planned. Convincing Trip to get this investor on board will make that happen. You can get your life back.”
I frown as I walk around the desk and wrap my arms around my father. “Dad, I made the choice to come back here because I wanted to. You were here, and Jackson. You and this track are my life. Just because I’m not with Jackson anymore doesn’t mean I regret my decision. I love it here. This place is my home and I want to help in anyway I can to save it.” Dad smiles. “Besides, I can always get a loan once we get this place back on its feet. Ohio State isn’t going anywhere any time soon. It’s you and me. And we stick together.”
He folds his arms around me and pats the back of my head. “We do make a pretty great team, don’t we? Since your mom left—”