Desperately Seeking Epic(3)

“Richard,” I drone. “Been expecting my call?” I’ve never been one for respectful greetings, especially over the phone, and I’m not starting now.

“As a matter of fact, I have,” he admits.

“I just logged on to my bank account and found the quarterly deposit hasn’t been made.”

“Well, Paul, I’ve called you several times, but it always goes straight to voice mail. And your voice mail is full. I’ve also sent you emails.” I clench my phone tighter. I never check my email, and I loathe voice mails.

“Where is my money?” I snap, my temper flaring. A tiny young woman glances at me, my tone having drawn her attention, but she quickly looks away when I give her a look that says, ‘mind your own f*cking business.’

“The agreement calls for an annual meeting once a year. Ms. Bateman is withholding funds until the meeting is held.”

“What?” I laugh because it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of. “Why in the hell is that in the contract?”

“Because I wasn’t aware it would be an issue. You gave me power of attorney and I made the decisions I thought would benefit you best.”

“How is an annual meeting going to benefit me?”

“Because you should want to know how your business is doing,” he answers making me feel like an idiot. I should be checking on the business. It is half mine. But checking on the business would mean seeing her. “She wants you to come home, Paul. She wants a meeting.”

“We’ve never even had an annual meeting,” I argue, clenching my fist.

“It’s in your contract.”

“It’s been over twelve years since that contract was signed, Richard, and we’ve not had one annual meeting,” I point out again. “Can she legally withhold my money?”

“Well . . . maybe not legally. But you can’t fight her on it without coming home and taking her to court. Just have the meeting. She’ll pay you. Then you can go back to gallivanting around the world.”

I don’t even bother to respond. Hitting End on the call, I power it down and jam it back in my pocket. This sounds just like Clara. Always playing her hand and seeking the power in our agreement. The bulldozer. If she can’t get what she wants, she’ll run you over. I can’t imagine why in the hell she wants me to come home now after all these years. I thought for sure the first year I was gone she’d reach out to me, ask me to return, but I got nothing. Her life rolled on as if I never even existed in it.

Logging on to Hotwire to find the cheapest airfare I can, I curse the situation.

Home.

I have to go home.

Her.

I have to face her.

The two things I’ve been running from. If she thinks our reunion will be pleasant and professional, she’s got another thing coming. I’m going to make sure she never asks for another f*cking annual meeting ever again.





“Turn it off, Neena,” I warn as I sift through a stack of papers on my desk.

“It’s not on,” she lies. Lifting my gaze, I find the lens of her camcorder five inches from my face.

“So you’re just holding it in my face for no reason?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Go film Marcus,” I groan.

“He’s prepping.”

“Damn,” I mumble. “What’s today?”

Neena grins so wide I don’t even have to look at her to see it; I can feel it. “The fifteenth.”

Shoving the papers back in a folder and tossing it aside, I take Neena’s face in my hands and press my lips to her forehead. Exhaling a sigh of relief through my nose because she has no fever, I murmur, “You look tired, baby.”

“I am tired,” she admits.

“Lie down for a bit . . . please. After the guys go for the first jump, I’ll wake you and we’ll go get some lunch.”

“Fine,” she huffs weakly, scratching her scalp, her purple scarf that covers her bald head moving back and forth as she does. She doesn’t want to lie down, but this is our daily routine now, and she knows I’ll nag if she doesn’t. The corner of my office is decked out with a single bed covered in a plush, neon comforter and pillows. The walls surrounding it are covered with posters of Neena’s favorite band; Masters of the V. Unfortunately, my job doesn’t allow me the luxury of taking off to care for my ailing daughter. I have to work—something I feel horrendously guilty about. But Neena insists she’d rather be here at the office with me and Marcus and the guys than sitting at home in her room. Her diagnosis is dismal but I’ve promised myself two things. One: never give up. I will fight to save her until the bitter end. Two: try to make every single day as happy as I possibly can for her, just in case . . . in case we lose. After she lies down and turns on her iPad so she can watch a movie on Netflix, I kiss her once more, grab my travel coffee mug, and turn the office light off, quietly shutting the door. Passing by the storage room where we keep the jumpsuits, I see Marcus buttoning up his custom-made suit. I give him a pointed look and he shrugs, giving me a pointed look back. “Three times per month. That was the deal.”

“You’re going to get us sued one day, ya know?”

“Nah,” he laughs. “It’s all in good fun.”