Forcing a smile of my own, I give him my standard reply. “Glad to be here.”
Dad tugs on his ear. “Listen, I’m sorry I missed your arrival—”
“It’s okay,” I cut in. I don’t want to hear him make excuses. And because I’ve missed him, I don’t want to fight. Quickly I go to my toes and kiss his cheek. “And you look good too.”
Dad pats my shoulder and gives the top of my head a peck. There are few people who make me feel small in size. Dad is one of them. At nearly seven feet, with a wing span of eighty-six inches, he was a formidable opponent on the court. His size makes him look a bit like an overgrown scarecrow, all long limbs and boney joints.
I step back from him. “Besides, Gray picked me up, and I was happy to see him.”
Maybe I do want to fight because Dad scowls. “Gray Grayson has the potential to be a superstar.” His voice is so low, I need to strain to hear it. Which is exactly what he intends—force your opponent to focus on you and you’re in control.
Like that, our fragile bubble of keeping the peace bursts.
“He’s a superstar now, Dad.” I pop the top on a beer and hand it to him with a little more force than necessary.
Dad simply stares down at me from his great height. He’s more silver-haired than brown now. But his brows are still dark, and this makes his glare more penetrating. I wonder briefly if he’s coloring those damn brows just for that effect.
“You know what I mean, Ivy.” Dad doesn’t drink his beer. He frowns. “I’m this close to signing him.”
“He is my friend.”
“That little show just now didn’t look like friendship to me.”
Chest tight, I flop into a chair. “We were goofing around, and I’m twenty-two years old. I really don’t need a lecture.”
Dad sits as well, only with much more decorum. Setting his untouched beer on the table, he steeples his hands together as he leans back. “No, sweetheart, I think you do. You’re right. That young man is a superstar. With a reputation.”
Heat prickles over my chest, and it’s all I can do not to huff like a child. “I know all about his reputation. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“It ought to if you’re going to fall for him.” Before I can protest, he leans forward and pins me with a look. “Guys like that… Hell, Ivy, my career as an agent is built on them. You know what their live are like. Women at every turn, offering to do anything—anything—they want. These guys will screw their way from game to game and enjoy themselves without a care for who they hurt.”
“Guys like you,” I snap without thought. Instantly, I’m horrified that I’ve spoken so crassly to my own father.
Dad freezes, and his gaze doesn’t waver. “Yeah, Ivy. Guys like me. I loved your mother with all my heart. And I cheated on her constantly. Didn’t even consider it cheating, to tell you the truth. Thought of it as my due for being a star.”
Cringing, I look away, not willing to face him when he’s talking about hurting my mother.
Maybe he knows, because his tone goes soft. “I regret the man who I was. But it doesn’t take away the reality of this life. Have you any idea how many wives and girlfriends I’ve had to handle because one of my guys has done something stupid with some young piece of ass? Too many, Ivy. I see that bone-deep hurt in those women’s eyes, and their resolve to just ignore these indiscretions, and—”
“Okay, Dad,” I all but wail. “I get it. I know.” My jaw locks as I turn to him, and it takes effort to speak. “I’ve lived this life too. But I refuse to judge Gray by what others have done.”
Dad gives an expansive sigh. “For Christ’s sake, he already fools around so much there are Tumblrs devoted to his castoffs. One search on him is a PR nightmare of party pictures and half-naked women.”
Reason number one I have never Googled Gray. I ignore the thick sludge of jealousy pushing through my veins. “We’re just friends,” I insist, my tone rising. “How many times do I have to say this?”
His response is a level look full of skepticism. “For argument’s sake, let’s say this friendship grows into something more.” Dad raises a hand when I open my mouth to protest. “Hypothetical here, Ivy. What happens when it all goes south? You think he’ll want to work with me anymore?”
Like that, I go utterly cold, then flush white-hot. For a moment, I can’t make my mouth work. “This is about you.” In a fog, I stand, my fists clenching. “You don’t give a shit about me—”
“Watch your mouth.”
“No. You sit here putting all sorts of unwarranted fears in my head, and it’s all because you’re afraid of losing Gray as a client!”
Dad stands as well, and the edges of his mouth go white. I brace myself for the explosion, knowing firsthand just how loud Dad can yell when he’s pissed. Bring it on. I’m pissed too. But it doesn’t happen. No, his reaction is worse because he deflates. His wide shoulders wilt on a sigh as he sets his hands low on his hips and looks down.
“I need Grayson.” It’s almost a whisper. “There are things… Business isn’t what it used to be. Guys…they’re going to big-name firms. Salary caps, scandals, bad PR. It’s all taking a toll.”
A painful lump fills my throat. Dad has never talked to me like this. In all honesty, I don’t want to hear it. I used to think of him as Batman—questionable tactics, but on the whole, unbeatable, enduring. I cannot think of him as less.