Chapter 4

“Clean up this mess,” I said with a grimace. The two men carried the dead body out of the room, leaving me and my father alone. I walked to the chair opposite where my dad was seated and made myself comfortable on it. I couldn’t detect my father’s expression, but who cares? I didn't.

He took the bottle of vodka off the table and poured some of its contents into a glass cup. He picked it up and sipped from the cup slowly. He took off his dark shades and placed them on the table, then clutched his fingers together with a stern look on his face.

“How did you sort out the deal with Damien Sanders?” He asked, relaxing on his chair, swinging it slowly from side to side.

“It went pretty well dad,” I responded.

“Good to hear,” he said, placing the glass cup gently on the table.

“I thought you said you quit drinking because of your health? What went wrong again?” I looked at him.

“Need I remind you that you have no right to tell me what to do?” He asked, facing me and flashing a sarcastic smile at me, which disappeared within a split second.

My father was an elderly man who should be in his late sixties. My mother died a few years after having me, so he had been the one in charge of my well-being ever since then.

He had a bold face, but from his looks, anyone could detect that he must have been handsome when he was younger. I stole my good looks from him. His hair was wizened and straw-like, nearly fossilized, and it was so dry. He had sad, way-worn eyes and a distinctive beard.

He had been the owner of the club ever since he was a young adult and built his empire from scratch along with his friend, Bennie. Bennie left the empire for some reasons that my father refused to disclose to me, but from what I know, they seem to have a bit of bad blood between them.

“This is not about telling you what to do, dad; it’s about your health,” I said in a defensive tone.

“It’s just a bottle of vodka. It wouldn’t hurt, would it? Besides, it helped with my mood,” he responded lightly.

“Fine. If you say so. I've got to go; see you around,” I said and stood up about to leave the room.

“Not so fast, Johnny,” he said.

“How many parcels of edibles are we supposed to transport to Jameson?” He asked.

“About three of them. Is there a problem?” I sat down again as I frowned, he had taken lots of my day.

“No, not really. I want you to handle something else tonight,” he said with a tone of finality.

“And what could that be?” I raised a brow.

“Fiona called me last night and said you haven’t been on good terms with her. May I ask what the reason is?” He asked, lowering his gaze at me.

I took a drink and responded, "Dad, I don’t really like her; you’re basically forcing her on me,”

“Ah…really?” He asked with a light chuckle, picking up the bottle of vodka to pour some of its contents into the glass cup.

“She’s not my type,” I said nonchalantly

“Maybe you could lecture me about your typical kind of woman. You know, so I don’t make mistakes,” he said, then sipped his drink slowly and swung his chair to the side.

“Dad, I have to go back to my office; I have work to do,” I said, lifting myself from the chair without caring to hear what else he had to say.

I slammed the door and walked back to my office, then collapsed into my chair. I hate to be told what to do, and my father seemed to derive joy from doing that. Fiona wasn’t my kind of woman. And the funny thing was, I didn’t even know why I didn’t like her. She is beautiful, I must say—extremely gorgeous and petite. But she was too pushy and lacked basic manners.

My father was just obsessed with me taking over his empire, so he wanted a powerful and fearless lady to take over with me. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought her over to see him in the first place.

She was only a friend I met at the club one night, and then we became platonic friends. She insisted on seeing my father, which I agreed to because I had nothing in mind.

I didn't expect my dad to see her and plant ideas of marriage in her head. She literally cajoled me into dating her, and that’s one reason why I didn’t want her around me. My phone started buzzing on the table, speaking of the devil; Fiona was calling. I declined the call, and within one minute, I got a text from her:

“Hey, I’m at your office. I’m coming in right now,”

Not now; why now? Why does she show up at the wrong minute? I heard a soft knock on my door before she walked in. She looked beautiful as usual in a short red gown and bright red lipstick. She’s blonde-haired, and it was folded in a neat bun. The smell of her perfume filled the air and mesmerized me for a minute, I must confess.

Her choice of jewelry is one thing I detest about her the most; it’s usually too pronounced. Her earrings were enormously round, while her necklace was the type that had too many pendants. I shook my head in disappointment and shut my eyes for a brief moment.

“Why haven’t you been taking my calls or responding to my texts?” She asked, chewing gum loudly. She made herself comfortable on the chair before I could ask her to sit.

“Could you stop chewing gum for a second?” I said it with a grimace. She gave me a hard look before she took out the gum and threw it in the waste basket beside the table.

“Why haven’t you been taking my calls?”

“Nothing. Been busy, that’s all,” I said, then swung my chair to the side.

“You’re always busy, but you make time to watch the games with your friends, right?” She raised her brows.

“Stop doing that,” I rolled my eyes.

“Doing what?” She walked closer.

“Nagging! You’re not my mother, you know,” I said, casting a brief glance at her before staring into space.

“That’s what you have to say?”

“I have other things to do. Make yourself comfortable; Vince will come to ask you what you want. If you don’t mind, I have to head out now,” I said, lifting myself from the chair and walking out without looking back.

”We are getting married and I have a say too!”