I hear my father clear his throat before addressing the witnesses to our heated fight. “Kane, you’ll have to forgive me. I thought our appointment was later today. Willow was just leaving.”
Dismissed.
Again.
By the man who I have called my father for my whole life. The only one I’ve ever known, even if he wasn’t the one who helped give me life. Instead, he’s always been the one who has resented the fact I existed. Hello, Daddy issues anyone?
Kirby moves into the room and clasps her hand in mine, giving my father a clear f-you by making her stance at my side known. I try to pull my hand from hers, knowing my father won’t hesitate to reprimand her for butting in. She digs her fingers in, grasping hold of my hand until the strength of her hold is bruising and her nails are biting in warning.
“Kirby, stop,” I plead.
“No. Not this time, Willow.”
I try, once again, to remove my hand, but she holds strong.
“Is this how you treat your own family, Dominic? I would hate to see how you treat someone outside that bond.”
My eyes widen as Kane speaks. His voice is strong and true as it rumbles around us like thunder. I watch in rapt fascination as he stands up to my father. For me. I haven’t had someone other than Eddie and Kirby go to bat for me in close to ten years. In fact, the only person I remember ever doing it before was my mother.
Why is he doing this? He doesn’t even know me.
My relief that he obviously didn’t hear everything is short-lived when my father speaks.
“I’m sorry you had to witness that, Kane. It’s unfortunate, but it seems like my stepdaughter needed a firm hand. You’ll understand one day when you have kids of your own. It’s necessary to be hard. Please sit. I’ll have Ivy set up the conference room.” He clears his throat before continuing. “Willow?”
I move my eyes from the detailed study of Kane’s body and glance over at my father. Maybe he’s changed his mind. Perhaps this was all just a daydream … yes, I’m sure it’s all a big misunderstanding. “Sir?”
“A word?” He walks around his desk and flicks his hand toward the doorway. I’m sure this is when he’s going to admit it was a big prank—admittedly, not funny in the least, but I’m sure there’s a reason. However, I’m not sure that would matter now that the verbal damage is done.
Kane doesn’t move as my father attempts to get through the door. Not surprisingly, he radiates a dominating presence that leaves no room for argument. He slips his gaze from mine to look down at where my father is standing in front of him before looking back just as quickly.
Not many people can look down at Dominic Logan. At six-foot-one, he’s always been one of the taller males who floats around the agency. Most of our male models sit somewhere around five-foot-ten; the females, though, most of them are right about level with him. Not Kane though. It’s hard to tell someone’s height from magazines, television, and movies, but Kane has to be pushing closer to six and a half feet.
His eyes are holding mine over the top of my father’s head, and I feel Kirby’s hand tighten. What is he doing?
“Oh, Kane, sweetheart! It’s been ages.” All four of us look into the outer sanctum as Ivy comes strutting back down the hall, her voice breaking the silence around us. I look over at my father to see a beaming smile in place before moving my gaze to Kane. His eyes are no longer on mine but assessing Ivy. Perfect. Freaking. Ivy.
Well, I’m certainly not going to stick around for this. I would prefer to keep the fantasy I’ve built around the image of Kane Masters on my pedestal of ‘the perfect man,’ and I know anything he might do right now would ruin that. Or actually, what Ivy might do, and his subsequent reaction to her.
I’ve yet to meet a man who could see Poison Ivy for the evil human being that she is. Kane will just be like the rest stuck in her spell.
“Come on, Kirb,” I whisper and tug her forward. I have to suck in to make it through the doorway Kane occupies, but no amount of air forced through my panicked lungs would make me a smaller person. Nope; instead, my large breasts rub against his chest, and I hold back a shiver with the friction of his touch. I cringe when I think about what he must think. Someone like Ivy would have no trouble slipping through. I turn to look at Kirby, avoiding his penetrating gaze at all costs, and my shoulders drop when I see her move past him with no trouble at all. Her slim build makes it easy to walk through the narrow opening provided with little effort.
“I brought you a trash bag, Wills,” Ivy says with a slither.
“For what, Ivy?” I say with rancorous sarcasm dripping from my tone.
“For all your shit, sister dear.” She laughs, her face not moving from her tight-lipped sneer.
“You bitch,” Kirby fumes.
“You have ten minutes, Willow,” she continues. “Make sure you turn in your keycard to the offices as well as any other property of Logan Agency you might think you have rights to. Ten minutes, Willow, to remove all your shit and don’t let me see you back here again.”
Perhaps, it was years of verbal abuse from my father, sister, and Brad. Maybe it was years of self-hatred finally boiling over the tipping point. Coming to a head between who I was and who I have worked so hard to become. Or maybe I just finally had enough. Recognizing when you hit the ground of rock bottom and it turns into quicksand puts into perspective that you really don’t have anything left to lose. They’ve taken it all, but they will not get my pride. Whatever the driving force behind it—I snap. And I don’t snap in a pretty, ladylike fashion where I whip off a metaphorical white glove and slap some faces.
No. Not me.
In typical Willow fashion, I go big when my crazy surfaces.
“I hate you!” I scream. “For years, I’ve been your punching bag. For YEARS, I’ve put up with everything you’ve thrown at me verbally. I’ve been nothing but a glorified human pile of crap for the two of you to step in whenever you need to feel better about yourself. You want me gone? Every piece of me? Fine!”
I look over at Kane. The instant reminder of our first encounter has me ripping my hand from Kirby’s and bending to snatch my shoes off my feet, tossing them at Kirby. Not this time, heels, not this time. She catches them easily despite her shock. Moving toward Ivy, I grab the bag before marching over to my desk. I throw in anything that isn’t ‘Logan Agency’ property. I’m a tornado of mental torment chanting mine over and over again as I snatch whatever I can. Pencils, pens—mine. Tape—mine. Notepad—mine. Little pillow for back support—mine. Mug with a cute little kitten on it—mine. All freaking MINE!
I stomp from my desk to the coffee table in the sitting area, grab all the magazines I had been in charge of buying each week from the little vendor on the corner of our building, and throw them in too. The fake flowers sitting on the small table near the hallway mouth are thrown in the bag too since I was the one who purchased them in the hopes of adding some happiness around here. Happiness! Ha, what a joke.
In my hysteria, I throw open the kitchen door and start to dump sugar packets and coffee stirring sticks into my bag. Because I’ll be damned if I let him make his demanded coffee with ease. Have fun finding three sugars now, jerk!