Chapter Four
Gabrielle
I hated going to my father’s office. Everything about it annoyed me. Nothing more so than his receptionist peering at me over rimless fashion glasses and asking me to take a seat.
“I’ll let him know that you’re here, Gabrielle,” she said.
I sighed and flopped onto one of the ridiculously uncomfortable couches in his waiting room and did what was required. I waited for my appointment with my own damn father.
The halls around me bustled with people laughing and talking while others barked into their Bluetooth headsets. No one took any notice of me, so I took my time studying my father’s little worker ants. I couldn’t imagine working for him, but they looked happy enough. They probably all shared his borderline obsessive love for watching a bunch of grown men chasing a ball around for a couple of hours every Friday.
Don’t get me wrong; I grew up around football. I knew there was a lot more to it than that. I’m not stupid. Or blind. I just had a deep-seated resentment for the game and everything about it.
I twiddled my fingers, growing increasingly impatient. The receptionist must have noticed because she came over and offered me coffee.
A steaming mug appeared on the small table next to my couch seconds later. I heaped my sugar into it and breathed the heavenly smell deep into my lungs, already feeling calmer.
Coffee did that to me. I loved the stuff. I consumed an unnatural amount of it. Although, given the hours I’d been keeping as a student, it probably wasn’t that unnatural. I let the warm liquid roll down my throat and immediately felt invigorated by it. Even if I was still feeling impatient.
“Is he going to be long?” I asked the receptionist, who had taken to filing her long red nails into points. It was downright scary. I had noticed the trend, but I couldn’t say that I understood why anyone would follow it. Why would you want your fingers to look like claws?
“Your appointment is at 8 a.m.,” she informed me briskly and sighed, as if it was obvious how long he would be. Then she snapped up a ringing phone.
I glanced at my rose gold watch, a graduation present from myself to myself. 7:55 a.m.
Seriously? He was going to make me wait until 8 on the dot? I rolled my eyes. I should’ve expected it. Anger and irritation rolled around in my stomach.
The intercom on the reception desk buzzed precisely as the clock struck 8 a.m. “You can send her in, Olivia.”
As if I hadn’t been able to hear him, Olivia dutifully fixed me with a smile and simpered, “You may see him now.”
Oh gee, thanks. May I really see my own father now? I stomped past Olivia without a backward glance and threw open the door to my father’s office, trying my very best to push down the anger that bubbled inside me.
“Gabrielle,” my father said as he rose from his desk. He pulled me in for a quick, cool hug. “How are you?”
Richard Ralls was an imposing man. In his heyday, he had played for the NFL himself. He retired at the top of his game to take over the family business from my ailing grandfather. As I was sure he would remind me somewhere in the conversation we were about to have.
His blond hair grayed at the temples, and the crow’s feet around his bright blue eyes had gotten deeper since I’d last seen him. He wasn’t a man who laughed often, but his wide grin had to come out and play whenever he was schmoozing. And that was something that he did very often.
“I’m okay.” I pulled my lower lip between my teeth. A nervous habit that I’d been trying to kick since I’d seen Fifty Shades of Grey. I released it as soon as I realized I was doing it. “You seem busy, as always.”
He motioned to one of the client’s chairs in front of his desk and lowered himself into his handmade leather monstrosity.
Of course, that was what I always felt like when I went to his office. Just another client.
“I am,” he said. “I just got in this morning, actually. I have a lot of work to catch up on.” There it was, the familiar implication that I was wasting his time. His eyes bored into mine as if challenging me to something.
I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath to calm myself. I was this close to snapping at him, but that wouldn’t do either of us any good. “Yeah, I can imagine.”
He looked slightly surprised by my response; then his surprise turned to amusement. Amusement that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Can you now, honey?”
I gripped the armrest so hard my knuckles turned white. My fingertips numbed. The anger I’d felt minutes before turned quickly to rage. It threatened to rise as I absorbed his tone.
“Yes, I can,” I managed to grit out.
I must not cause a scene. I must not snap. I repeated the mantra to myself over and over again.
If I wanted even a minuscule chance of him actually taking me seriously about not taking the bar, I had to keep a level head. Anything that could be construed as even slightly immature had to stay on lockdown.
“I’m actually really busy myself, but I have something that I need to discuss with you. I thought it would be best to have this discussion in person.” There, I congratulated myself. That sounded perfect. Very levelheaded.
My father didn’t seem to give a shit about my perfect delivery. “I hope that it’s studying for the bar exam that’s keeping you so busy and not the partying or the boys.”
I groaned. He was never going to let that go. I got busted once while I was in high school. Once. Yet that was the yardstick by which I was always measured.
It didn’t escape me that he hadn’t mentioned my graduating from law school once. Or that he was proud of me for graduating, with honors.
“Well, actually, Dad, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
He cut me off. “Honestly, Gabrielle, it’s time for you to grow up and take some responsibility for your life.”
I nearly gagged out loud. Responsibility? I was 24, I had graduated with honors from one of the top law schools in the country, and as far as he knew, I was about to take the damn bar exam. Something most people don’t do until 27. Yet, here he was, lecturing me about taking responsibility?
He didn’t seem to notice that I was seconds away from going nuclear. He continued. “I mean, when I was your age, I was well into my career with the NFL. I was breaking records every season, and during the off season, I spent every spare second of my time with your grandfather being groomed to take over a multinational corporation.”
I nearly laughed with derision, but I held on to the explosion brewing inside me so tightly, I couldn’t move a muscle.
If I so much as tried to lift one side of my lips, I would lose control. If that happened, he would hold my “immature outburst” over me for the next decade or so, and he’d dictate my life movements for my lack of maturity to make my own decisions.
The muscles in my jaw twitched, but still, he droned on. “I was only a year older than you are now when I had you. Then I had to take care of you on top of everything else.”
I knew I should be used to this lecture, but it stung every time. It never failed to remind me of my mother. How she had always shut me out, thus leaving my father to take care of me. Or at least, the slew of nannies they hired to take care of me.
He was lost in his rant, though. “You, on the other hand, want to stride in here to chat about how busy you are? The only thing you need to do is go home and study for the bar exam.”
“Are you done?” I asked, my teeth gritted and my tone flat. “I wanted to talk to you about the exam. That’s why I’m—”
The door cracked open, effectively cutting me off. A really tall, really well-built guy with short black hair and the most sparkling hazel eyes stuck his head through the door.
From the immediate change in my father’s demeanor, the guy was one of his players. An important one, judging by my father’s sudden genuine smile and welcoming expression.
“Oh, shit. Sorry, Rich. I didn’t realize you were in a meeting. I didn’t check in with Olivia. I’ll come back later.” His voice was deep, low, and smooth. He could work for a phone sex line with a voice like that. I was pretty sure he could make a girl come just by talking to her. He’d make a killing.
Oh wait, he probably already does. I mentally admonished myself for even taking notice of how good-looking he was or how sexy his voice was. Even if my father didn’t have his rule about my staying away from his players, I wanted nothing to do with the arrogant assholes anyway.
I waited for my father to tell him that he should go back to Olivia and wait, just like I’d had to, but instead, he motioned the guy inside. I fumed at the gesture.
“Nonsense, James. You know you don’t have to check in with her. You’re welcome anytime.” The edge in my father’s voice that he’d had while he lectured me disappeared into thin air.
My head snapped back like he’d slapped me. This arrogant asshole football player didn’t have to check in with his receptionist, but I did? He was welcome anytime, but I had to make an appointment two days in advance?
Fuck that.
I narrowed my eyes and looked straight at my father. “Yes, James,” I seethed. “Don’t bother waiting outside. We’ll be done here in just a second. I’m not taking the bar exam, that’s what I came here to tell you.”
I grabbed my bag and was about to storm out when my father chuckled, actually fucking chuckled, and then spoke like I was a clueless teenager throwing a tantrum. “Of course you’re taking the bar, Gabrielle. You know the rules.”
That was it. The rage had finally bubbled all the way up, and I lost the last bit of self-control that I’d been managing to hold on to.
“Rules? How about this for rules?” I snapped and walked straight to the asshole football player and kissed the living daylights out of him.