Chapter Eleven
Chloe
I slept horribly, but by the time the sun came up, I'd come to the conclusion that I was being ridiculous. I was judging Finn based on a life that I knew nothing about. The fact that Brian had been so open let me into the reasons why Finn was like he was, but the fact still remained that it was irrelevant. He wasn't my problem, and I was soon to be headed home.
Funny how that resolution faded as my phone buzzed and I scrambled to get it, thinking that somehow he'd gotten my number.
Cindy: Just wanted to let you know I'm on a flight back home. Last night was wicked fun. Thanks for the hookup. Hope we can do it again soon. Love ya!
Me: Anytime. Be safe. Love you, too.
I tossed the phone toward the other end of the bed and picked up my pillow, groaning into it loudly. Why did this matter? I had a million other things to worry about besides some local playboy who wasn't even going to be a memory in a month. My father was breathing down my neck to talk about my designs, and I had a few, but nothing really worth showing him yet. My main sketch pad was missing, and something told me that I had left it in the top of the closet back in the dorm room. I checked with Jessie, but she hadn't gotten back to me to verify if my worries were valid.
"Chloe?" my father's voice sounded outside my door as he knocked softly.
"I'm up." I tugged the covers up to my chin and looked up as he stuck his head in the room.
"I'm going to whip up some pancakes. Let's talk about your designs this morning, okay?"
"Yeah. Alright." I rolled over and curled up. "Can you put chocolate chips in mine?"
"And pecans?"
"Yeah. Like Momma used to do." I closed my eyes. Nothing was working out, and of course, this was the very moment my father would choose to be nice. It was going to be short lived, seeing that he was far more interested in his money than me, but it was too much even for the short stint that it would last.
"Of course. Hurry up. I have a lunch date." He closed the door, and I rolled out of the bed, hitting the floor in a crouch.
A lunch date. Sex with a chick at lunch on a Sunday? He was going straight to hell.
I chuckled at the audacity of my thoughts and got up, changing into a long cream-colored sweater and a pair of black tights. After tying my hair in a messy bun, I walked down the hall and made a beeline for the coffee pot.
"I'm not sure you're going to want to talk without me having my large sketch pad. It's got my main dress and shirt designs in it." I poured the cup and turned to look up at him.
"Are you okay? Your eyes are puffy. Were you crying last night?" Concern swept across his face, but it left as quickly as it appeared.
"No. Went out drinking." I moved to the table and sat down, focusing only on the warmth my coffee provided. "Where's Parker?"
"He has a gamer day on Sundays with some of the boys from school. I drop him off at eight, and he comes home around six. It's good for him to get out of the house." My father looked up from his cooking and seemed to be analyzing me.
"What?"
"Nothing. Just noticing how much you look like a woman. Like your mother."
"I'm twenty-three, Dad. I grew up while you weren't looking."
His jaw clenched, and I realized how my words sounded.
"I didn't mean it like that." I stood up, and he lifted his hand.
"It's fine. Get your work, and let's talk." He pursed his lips, and I knew the conversation was over.
I walked to the room with my head hung down, pissed at myself for starting off the morning with him on a bad note. I needed him in a good mood for the discussion we had coming up, and now he was going to be anything but.
The sketch pad was open on a small circular table beside the bed. I'd been working on something in the wee hours of the morning when I couldn't stop thinking about Finn. I snatched it up and walked back to the kitchen with trepidation rolling over me in great waves.
"I really don't feel good about this." I sat down and opened the pad.
"Well, I'm your investor. Rule number one is that you should never tell me that. You put on your game face and sell your designs like I would die without them."
I smiled and shook my head. "No one's going to die here."
"Right, but the feeling should be the same, Chloe. No one wants to invest in an artist who sort of thinks her stuff would be good. We want to jump in the boat with someone that reminds us that we're about to miss out on the next great thing." His voice was full of life, and his expression reminded me of the man he used to be.
"Let me ask you this..." I closed the book and pulled my mug closer to me, using it to warm my hands. "Why did you choose winter attire? It seems so stuffy and uncreative."
"For that exact reason. I love it up here in the cold and yet, just like you, I can only stand to be outside for a few minutes. My 'why' for creating my line of men and women's ski and snowboard attire was for necessity. Is it the most beautiful design in the world? No. Is it attractive? Yes. Plus, it's fully functional and will keep you warm in an arctic freeze."
I realized with a start that I had been going about my plan all wrong. It wasn't about designing something that I would wear because it was cute, but coming up with something functional and making it cute.
"Brilliant." I glanced down at my coffee and smiled. "Dad. That's brilliant."
"Right? It's why you had your school paid in full. There's money in that way of thinking." He moved toward me and laid a plate of pancakes in front of me. "I know I'm hard on you, but there's a reason for it."
I wanted to push a little, but I decided to let it alone.
He sat down beside me and started to eat. "Show me what you have."
Opening my binder, I pushed it across the table.
"It's a line of t-shirts that I think would be great sellers on college campuses." I flipped through them slowly, watching his expression remain unchanged.
He glanced up. "Who are you selling these to?"
"College kids. I just said that."
He shook his head and cut into his pancakes. "Did you not take any business classes at UCLA, Chloe? College kids don't have money."
There was a sick sense of relief that flooded me to see that my father was slipping back into his normal self. If I didn't feel stupid already coming to sit before him, I did now.
"Some do. Most of us have allowances, Dad."
"I'm aware of that, but you're limiting yourself. A small percentage of the population are college kids." He pushed the notebook back at me. "I want you to think about designing something for people in colder climates."
"What? Why? I hate the cold. I'd much rather design something for the beach. If I had my other notebook, I could..."
He cut me off. "Well, you don't. Eat your breakfast before it gets cold and have some new windbreakers designed for me by later this week. That's your first test to get this very large sum of money you're after. I love you, but I'm not willing to set you up to fail and lose money in this venture at the very same time. That would be stupid as a businessman and as a dad."
"I hate the cold."
"Exactly." He tapped my plate with his fork to remind me to eat. "Let that drive you to create the warmest, comfiest light-weight jacket known to man."
I turned my eyes down and started to eat, hoping that the large syrupy pancakes would shove the thick ball of hate building in my chest back down.
"I know you don't like my request, but I'm holding the checkbook. Be smart about this. I know you have it in you."
Him patronizing me only caused my appetite to plummet.
I stood and picked up my plate, having barely touched my pancakes. I dumped it in the sink, picked up my sketch pad and my coffee, and walked to my room without another word.
Was it asinine? Absolutely.
Did I care? Hell no.
He was a jerk and had been tearing me down for years. I didn't need his money, and I wasn't willing to play his game—at least I didn't think I was.
* * * *
I laid around in my room for the next two hours until I thought my head might explode from counting ceiling tiles. Maybe I was being childish, but it was namely due to the fact that I always felt like a child around my father. He made sure of it.
Grabbing the handle to the door, I pulled hard and stormed down the hall, ready to give him a piece of my mind. I would design the best damn windbreaker ever known to man and would outsell everything in his store ten times over.
"Dad?" I called out with angst in my voice.
Nothing.
I walked out to the garage to find the SUV gone.
"Great." I walked back into the kitchen to see a short note from him. It was a reminder that people who wanted to win the game were willing to play it.
I rolled my eyes and hated just how accurate his statement was. There were a few jackets in the hall closet that were his, which would be a good start to my experiment. Designing for functionality was completely different than just letting my mind go. I had to test out what was wrong with the other jackets and move on from there, discerning how to make them better, more effective.
I tugged on a large gray jacket and zipped it up, moving around and liking the feel of it.
"Let's see how you do in the cold." I grabbed my notepad and slipped my feet into a pair of furry house shoes by the front door before walking out on the porch and sitting down on the swing at the far end. I hadn't realized there was someone shoveling snow, but seeing him left me feeling badly for him.
It was far colder than it had been a week back when I arrived. Why would my father have some poor guy working like that in the freezing cold temperatures?
This guy must really need money.
I got up and walked back into the warmth of the house to make him something warm to drink. I mixed up a mug of hot chocolate and debated far too long over whether to put marshmallows on the top or not. I changed into a big pink winter coat and zipped it up tight before slipping on mittens and trying to get back out of the house without spilling the hot chocolate.
Walking quickly down the pathway, I slowed as I approached him and called out, not wanting to scare him and get a shovel to the side of the face.
"Hi! I just realized you were out here. I figure you might like something to-" I stopped as my breath caught in my chest. "You have to be kidding me."
Finn.
His smile was beautiful, but the bright red on his cheeks and over his nose was concerning.
"That for me?" He nodded toward the mug and laid his shovel down.
There was a split second that I visualized myself tossing it on him, but I couldn't do it.
"No. It's for me." I took a sip and stifled a scream as it burnt my tongue.
"Oh." His eyes adverted from me and he turned, picking up his shovel and starting to work again. "I'll be done soon. I'll leave the invoice in the mailbox as not to bother you again."
I let out a long sigh as indecision tore up my insides. "The drink is for you."
"Just set it on the porch, and I'll come get it in a minute. I'm almost done." He continued to work, ignoring me, which I probably deserved. The sound of him panting softly melted my heart and left me concerned for him. It was too cold to be sweating outside. He shook slightly, and I was sure it was from the freezing cold temperatures.
"I'll have it waiting inside for you. Just knock, and I'll let you in." I turned and walked back to the house, not wanting to keep him out there much longer. I was angry at him, but it was for selfish reasons. I had pushed Cindy onto him and had no reason to be angry with him for doing what was natural.
I was the idiot.