Chapter Ten

Zoe

The car ride back is silent. At least, it is for me. My father and Bryant have had their heads together, speaking in hushed tones the entire way. I'd apparently done my job as the pretty face, meaning they have no further need of me at the moment. Arrogant, sexist jerks.

The car drops us off in front of our office building and I ride the elevator up with them – still completely ignored and left out of the conversation. Of course. The elevator chimes and the doors slide open. I storm out, turning to head for my office, when my father's voice stops me in my tracks.

“Zoe,” he says. “Can you come to my office, please?”

I let out a long breath and steel myself. The tone in his voice lets me know that this isn't going to be a fun conversation. Clearly, I've done something wrong. Which might explain the cold shoulder and childish silent treatment I got on the way back from Connor's.

Turning around, I follow my father and Bryant, quietly shutting the door behind me. My father walks over to the sideboard in his office and pours out two drinks, handing one to Bryant, before dropping down into the large, plush chair behind his desk. Bryant sighs as he sits in one of the two overstuffed wingbacks in front of the desk and takes a sip of his drink.

“Oh, no, I'm fine, thanks for checking,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my tongue.

“Have a seat,” my father says.

I lean against the wall next to me and fold my arms over my chest. “I'm fine, thank you.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

“What's going on with you, Zoe?” Bryant finally asks.

“What are you talking about?”

He turns in his seat and looks at me. “I don't know,” he says. “The last few days you've been so defiant. So combative.”

“Maybe, I'm just tired of not being taken seriously,” I say. “Last time I checked, I have a degree and a license to practice law too.”

Bryant exchanges a look with my father, demonstrating more of that silent language the two of them share that I hate so much. To me, it's yet another sign of disrespect.

“We take you seriously enough, Zoe,” my father says. “Let's not get overly dramatic.”

Overly dramatic – which is code for: “You're just an overly emotional woman, and that's why we only take you seriously up to a point.” I just roll my eyes and shake my head, a sound of derision passing my lips.

“I will have to agree with Bryant though,” he continues, “you have been very combative and defiant lately. Is there something going on with you that we need to talk about?”

Other than the fact that I can't get a guy who took advantage of a situation – took advantage of me – out of my mind? No, nothing at all.

“I'm fine,” I say.

“Well, perhaps then, you can explain why you failed to mention that our client has attempted to sue Mr. Grigson three times before,” Bryant says, his tone haughty.

“And even worse, had all three suits tossed out for lack of merit,” my father adds.

Great. So, this is all my fault. I just knew that the bullshit boomerang would eventually come back around and hit me.

“Oh gee, I'm sorry,” I say, sarcasm coloring my every word. “I didn't realize that was my job.”

“Zoe, you let us walk in there and look like idiots,” Bryant says. “It's not very conducive to working out a settlement in favor if Grigson thinks he's got the upper hand. We could have planned a better strategy instead of walking in there with our dicks in our hands. It's information we should have had.”

“Then why didn't you look it up?” I ask. “And why are you even assuming I knew about it in the first place?”

“Because we know you, Zoe,” my father says. “And we know you enjoy researching every aspect of a client. Frankly, I'd be shocked if you didn't know.”

“And I have to say, I’m disappointed that you chose to not share that information with us,” Bryant adds.

I let out a long, frustrated breath as a sense of irritation builds within me. Yeah, I probably should have told them. But, I'm not on board with this racket, nor am I their flunky, to be ordered around like an intern or something. But, I also don't want to admit to holding out on them. That will only get me in deeper and create even more problems for me.

I shrug. “Well, given the fact that you two have seen fit to exclude me from any preparation for this case, I did something different this time,” I lied. “I didn't think my skills were needed, so I decided to work on something more productive.”

“We rely on you –”

“Bryant, you have assistants without law degrees or licenses to practice who get paid to do your research,” I snap. “If you failed to properly utilize your staff, that's not my fault. That's on you. Not me.”

He looks a little taken aback by my outburst and swallows whatever reply was on his tongue. Instead, he looks to my father, giving him a, “You deal with her,” sort of look. I swear to God, he's lucky I don't have something blunt in my hand, because I'd totally beat him within an inch of his life right now.

“Bryant,” my father says, “would you be so kind as to give us a few minutes? I'd like to have a word with my daughter.”

“Of course,” he says and stands up.

Bryant drains the last of his drink and deposits the glass on the sideboard as he leaves the office, closing the door behind him. My father and I stare at each other for a few long minutes, neither of us saying a word. He just sips his scotch, looking at me over the rim of the glass. Finally, he sets it down on the desk in front of him.

“Zoe, something is going on with you,” he says. “You've not been yourself the last few days.”

If by not being myself, he means that I've been more assertive and less of a doormat, I suppose he's right. I don't know what it is, but being with Connor really seems to have unlocked something within me. Izzy's words might finally be starting to resonate with me. Maybe, it's a combination of both. At this point, I really have no idea.

Whatever it is though, is ultimately irrelevant. Something's shifted in me and I feel stronger. I feel more in control of myself. And, I feel less inclined to let myself be treated like dirt. Treated like I'm somehow less than because I don't have the right equipment to be part of the boy's club.

It's going to be a process. I know deprogramming myself after twenty-six years isn't going to be easy and that I'm going to slide back into old behaviors from time to time. But, I like the way I've been feeling since sleeping with Connor. I like it a lot. I intend to continue building myself up and getting stronger, and there isn't anything my father or Bryant can do to stop me.

“I told you before,” I say. “I'm fine.

“I'm not convinced you are,” he says. “You seem unhappy. Upset all the time. It's been even more pronounced over the last few days.”

Yeah, probably because you and Bryant treat me like garbage. That can have a grating, as well as degrading, effect on a person. I find it interesting that he associates this newfound strength in me with being unhappy or upset. Apparently, my father dislikes strong, independent-minded women even more than I previously thought. In hindsight, I suppose that's a little something I should have gleaned from his dating history.

I'd always assumed he just picked his girlfriends because they were young – my age or so. But, now I have to wonder if it's because they were young and compliant. Docile. You know, doormats. Like me.

“Like I said, Dad,” I say, “I just don't appreciate being treated like I'm somehow less than –”

“I think it's because you're lonely, honey,” he says. “Because you don't have a boyfriend.”

My eyes widen, and my mouth falls open in shock as I stare at him. Did he really not just hear a single word I said? And does he really think my having a boyfriend or not having one is really my biggest problem?

“That's not the issue, Dad,” I say, shaking my head. “My problem is –”

“I'd like for you to go out with Bryant,” he says flatly. “I think it's time to make this relationship happen. I think it would be the best thing for you.”

I shake my head and fight the urge to pinch myself. This conversation suddenly became so surreal that I have to be asleep. This has to be some sort of nightmare. This cannot be my reality.

“Are you serious?” I ask.

“Very,” he replies. “I honestly think you'll be a lot happier with a good man in your life. You'll feel more settled.”

“This is ridiculous,” I say.

“Bryant is a good man. Honest. Hardworking,” he continues. “And he really likes you, Zoe. He likes you a lot. He practically worships you.”

“That's unfortunate for him,” I say.

“Why won't you even give the kid a chance?”

“Because I'm not interested in him that way, Dad,” I say.

I'm barely interested in him as a human being, truth be told. And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he'd never do the things to me that Connor did. The man is a pure taker, and for all of his obvious character flaws, Connor is a giver – as well as a taker – in the bedroom. The mere thought of what we did together sends a ripple of pleasure along my skin.

No. I can't think of him anymore. I especially can't think of him like that right now. He'd taken advantage of me and I'm still angry about it. And I was upset even before the stunt he pulled at his house earlier. No, I won't let myself think about Connor Grigson or the fantastic, unbelievably delicious things he did to me.

“If you just gave Bryant a chance –”

“I'm not interested in giving him a chance, Dad,” I say, cutting him off. “I'm not interested in him. Period.”

“Zoe,” he says, his voice growing deeper and gruffer – a tell-tale sign he's getting upset. “You are going to go out with Bryant. You are going to give him a chance. One dinner is not going to kill you. Do you understand me?”

A dark look crosses his face as his jaw clenches, and his eyes flash dangerously. My father has always been very good at intimidating people without actually threatening them. He just has an air about him that somehow puts you on edge. Makes you tense. That makes you afraid.

Having grown up with it, I know what’s coming. I feel my stomach clenching and my heart beating a staccato rhythm against my breast. Even though I know he'd never physically harm me, just seeing that look on my dad’s face never failed to terrify me. It continues to terrorize me.

“Dad, I –”

“This is not up for debate, Zoe,” he says. “Bryant is a good man who wants to get to know you better. There's nothing wrong with that. You should be grateful that he even wants to be with you, because frankly, I think you can use a man like him in your life.”

The key word there being, “my” life. It's my life, not his. He doesn't get to choose who I'm with. That's my choice to make. Right? Rage flows through me and I find myself about to tell him exactly where he can stick his opinions about my life.

But when I see him sitting behind his desk, glowering at me, I feel the steel in my spine weaken. I'm trying to summon that strength within me but losing out to the little girl who's afraid of disappointing and upsetting her father.

“Am I clear, Zoe?” he presses.

I try to rally the courage in me and open my mouth to speak. And when I do, I grimace at the words that fall past my lips.

“Yes,” I reply as disgust and dismay surge within me.

“Good,” he says, his demeanor suddenly brighter. “I think you two will be great together. I really do. All you have to do is give it a chance and you'll see it too. I'm sure of it.”

I roll my eyes as that sinking feeling settles over me once more. Just when I thought I was taking some positive steps forward in the right direction, moving toward reclaiming myself and my life, my father storms in like a Category 5 hurricane and blows down all of the defenses I’d constructed over the last few days.

I sigh. This is a setback. I know there will be others along the way. All I can do is try to learn from it and keep moving forward. Just because I'm going to have dinner with Bryant doesn't mean anything. It certainly doesn't mean we're suddenly a couple.

It's one dinner. I can endure it. And perhaps, the next time my father tries to bully me into something, I'll have learned enough from this experience to stand up to him.

“You're dismissed,” my father says and turns to his computer.

I turn and leave his office, my footsteps feeling as heavy as my heart. My stomach churns and roils and I'm silently berating myself for not saying something. For not standing up for myself. Again. I begin walking in the direction of my office, frustrated and angry with myself.

“Zoe. Hey Zoe.”

My teeth grit at the sound of Bryant’s voice and I keep walking. He's the last freaking person I want to deal with right now. I hear his footsteps behind me and then feel his hand on my arm, trying to stop me. I spin around and yank my arm out of his grasp. The ferocity of my movement – and perhaps, the rage on my face – makes Bryant hold his hands up and take a step back from me.

“Just trying to get your attention,” he says, that smarmy smile I hate so much plastered on his face. “Still feeling feisty, I see.”

“What do you want?” I ask.

“Just wanted to let you know to be ready at seven,” he says. “I'll pick you up for dinner. I'm dying to take you to –”

“I'm not going to dinner with you tonight,” I snap.

He looks at me like a parent would look at an unruly child. “Didn't your father talk to you?”

“Yes,” I say. “And?”

“I'm pretty sure your father –”

I glance around, suddenly aware that some of the office staff are watching us – even though they are trying to be discreet about it. Who doesn’t love some good office drama and gossip? I feel the heat burning in my cheeks and know that I'm probably turning an unnatural shade of red. Maybe this would have been a better conversation to have behind closed doors after all.

I let out a long breath. I know there's no way I'm getting out of this. Both Bryant and my father will make my life a living hell if I do. Maybe if I go and show him that there's absolutely no chemistry between us, that we will never be a couple, and make him every bit as miserable as he makes me on a day-to-day basis, it will put a stop to this once and for all.

Maybe, the sooner I bite the bullet and do it, the sooner I'll be able to get the noose that is Bryant Brooks off my neck.

“Fine,” I say. “But, not tonight. I have things to do.”

It's petty, but I'm not going to let him dictate everything to me. It may only seem like a small act of defiance, but it’s an important one for me. At least I can assert some form of control over the situation I’m in.

“Tomorrow then,” he says and smiles wide, as if he thinks he's won.

“Fine.”

Without another word, I walk away, storming into my office and slamming the door shut behind me. The day has gone from crappy to outright garbage.