“Yeah,” I reply slowly. “I have one daughter.”
“Holly, right? I understand she's a beautiful girl. Stunning,” he says. “A teacher at that private school – the Gilmore Academy, correct?”
I nod slowly, my body going numb. I’m finding it harder and harder to keep from puking. The fact that he knows her name and where she works sends a bolt of fear tearing through me. Maybe I'm paranoid, but I swear there is a veiled threat in the way he's ratting off her information.
“Y – yeah, that's right.”
Trujillo nods. “My proposal is this,” he starts, “I am willing to wipe the slate clean with you. Cancel all your outstanding debt and give you a fresh start, free of financial entanglements with me. In exchange, you will marry your daughter to my son.”
The bolt of fear turns into a steady stream of fear-fueled electricity, searing my every nerve ending. I knew this is where he was going, but hearing him say the words feels like he just kicked me in the nuts with a pair of steel-toed boots.
Still, the idea that I can wipe the slate clean, get out from under his thumb – I can't deny how badly I want that. The question is - can I get my stubborn, willful daughter to agree to this? Can I get her to put the family first and take one for the team? She doesn't know about Trujillo or the kind of trouble I'm in, and if I have my way, she never will.
But, I know if I'm ever going to get her to agree to it, I need to tell her enough to get her to think of the family and sign off on this.
“What do you think, Michael?” Trujillo asks.
“The slate will be wiped completely clean?” I ask. “No strings attached?”
“Completely clean,” he says. “You get a completely fresh start. You have my word.”
I know this is going to be a tough sell. Hell, it might be impossible. But Holly is a good girl who's loyal to the family. She's loyal to me and will usually yield to what I want. It's not going to be easy by any stretch of the imagination, but I think with some prodding, I can get her to see things from my perspective.
“I think I can do that, Mr. Trujillo,” I say. “I think I can get my girl to agree.”
“Excellent, Michael,” Trujillo replies. “I knew I could count on you.”
Chapter Five
Holly
I pull into the driveway outside of my father's house and shut off the engine. I sit behind the wheel for a moment, studying the house. He'd called me last night and demanded that I come over for dinner tonight. Didn't request. He demanded.
What struck me though, was that he sounded a lot more stressed out and harried than he did when he interrupted my brunch with Gabby to demand my presence at a “family” dinner.
Yeah, that had been a fun night filled with my father and Ian badgering me about my job. For whatever reason, they'd felt compelled to make a concerted effort to belittle what I do – more so than they usually do anyway -- try to undermine my confidence in my ability to teach, and all but demand that I quit and come to work for my father's company.
That had been annoying, and although they were more insistent than normal, it's pretty par for the course with those two. They always think they know what's best for me and have no qualms about telling me how to live my life.
When he'd called me last night though, and told me to come to dinner tonight, there was something in my father's voice that had rattled me. It took me a while to put a finger on what it was I heard in his voice, but when I figured it out, it really shook me.
I heard fear. Outright fear.
My father isn't a man who fears much or is easily intimidated. In fact, he's usually the one doing the intimidating. But, something has him really spooked and even though we don't always see eye-to-eye or get along, hearing that fear in his voice scared me. In all my years, I've never known him to sound so downright terrified.
With a sigh and a deep sense of foreboding, I climb out of my car and head to the door, trying to steel myself more with each step. Call me psychic, but I have a feeling that this is going to be a long, miserable night.
“Good evening, Miss Holly,” Gloria says as she opens the door before I even have a chance to knock. “Nice to see you again.”
“It's nice to see you too, Gloria,” I say and smile with genuine affection.
Gloria has been with our family for as far back as I can remember. Honestly, after my mother passed away from ovarian cancer, Gloria took a large role in raising me. My father had plunged himself into his work – and had taken Ian under his wing to help groom him to take over the empire one day – leaving me to more or less fend for myself. It was like I was a secondary consideration to them.
Because I'm a girl and not part of the testosterone-rich world of construction, neither my father nor Ian took much interest in me or my life. Unless they needed something from me, of course. The only time they really paid any attention to me was when they needed me to pose for family pictures for company literature. Or when they needed to project that “All-American” family image my father has been so careful about nurturing.
Truth be told, Gloria was the single biggest influence in shaping me as a person. In helping me become the woman I am today. It was Gloria who was there when I started my period. She took me to the store, taught me about hygiene products, and how to use them. It was Gloria who was there to nurse me through every schoolgirl heartache I had, always taking the time to talk me through it over multiple cups of hot cocoa or soda. It was Gloria who stressed the importance of finding my passion, a career path that would fulfill me, and seeking out my own happiness in life. Hell, it was even Gloria who used to come to some of my field hockey games to cheer me on back when I was in school.
It was Gloria who was there for all of that. Not my father. Not Ian. Gloria. For all intents and purposes, Gloria filled the role of mother to me, and honestly, was pretty much the only parent I ever really had.
“They're in the dining room waiting for you,” she says and gives me a soft smile.
I sigh and look at Gloria, hoping to be struck down by some mysterious and painful illness that requires me to go to the hospital. She gives me a nod and an understanding expression, squeezing my arm gently.
“This should be fun,” I mutter.
“They seem more on edge than usual,” she says. “I don't know what's going on.”
I drop my bag and coat on the table near the door. “Wonderful,” I say. “Thanks, Gloria.”
“Of course.”
I turn and make my way through the foyer, my heels click-clacking off the marble floor. I step through the archway and into the formal dining room to find my brother and father sitting at one end of the table, heads close together, whispering urgently to one another.
And maybe I'm paranoid, but I can't help but get the feeling that I'm the topic of their conversation.
“Holly,” my father says, giving me a perfunctory smile. “Glad you could make it.”
Ian looks at his watch and rolls his eyes. “Twenty minutes late, of course.”
“Glad to see your nanny got you here on time, Ian,” I say, taking my seat across the table from him.
“Shut up, Hol –”
“Kids,” my father says in that tone that always makes us stop bickering. “Can't we just have a nice, peaceful, civil dinner together for once?”
I'm tempted to throw a “he started it” out there, but wisely bite my tongue. I can see the strain on my father's face - the stress he is under is transparent. Ian looks at me, his expression haughty, as if he'd just scored a point or something because he'd gotten the last word in. I roll my eyes and look away from him.