Page 71 of Boss Abroad
Me? I’m used to only getting a few hours of sleep. And I’m more than happy to cut those down if I’m trading it in for time well spent with the good doctor.
As I make my way to the club’s reception to fake a chance encounter, I see a man on the sofa I recognize, but I can’t quite put a name to him. I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere. I pick my brain to remember who that is while I chat with Bernie, the oldest security guard in the building. He secures nothing, but he’s the nicest person around and he’ll have a job here as long as he wants to carry on working.
The reception is always busy, with tours of the stadium going on daily. People have come and gone, but the not-that-stranger-to-me and I have stuck around, waiting for someone.
Well, mine has just arrived.
The sound of April’s laughter spilling out of the car’s open door tugs at the corners of my lips. I can’t help it. It’s delicious, irresistible, infectious.
Thank fuck it’s Bernie—old, naïve, oblivious Bernie—and not Noah I’m chatting with, or I’d be getting roasted. The self acclaimed comedian wouldn’t miss a chance of taking a dig at my newest acquired ability to smile.
April says something back to Terry and shuts the car door. I shake Bernie’s hand and prepare to head to the elevator in sync with the doctor. But something stops her in her tracks. I see her turn around and sprint back to the car, but Terry has already left to park it.
She marches outside, and for a second I wonder if she’s avoiding me. The self-centered thought is corrected when the man, whom I still can’t remember where I know him from, chases after her, yelling, “April, wait.” What the fuck? Of course, I follow them. “April, please talk to me.”
“No! Get away from me! Terry? Teeeerry!” She’s running for her life now, trying to reach the car, and that desperation unleashes a beast in me.
The man is much older than me and not fit at all. I get to him in a couple of strides and almost pull his shoulder from its socket, turning him to me.
“Out!” I snarl at the word, flecks of spit hitting his face as I over-pronounce the 't.' “Now!” I point to the gate, even though I’d rather send him off through the sewer hole if I could have it my way.
“I’m her father,” the red-blotched face man exclaims, and I’m taken aback. He’s what? My brain doesn’t have time to unscramble this information.
April stops running and faces us. “I don’t have a father.” That’s right. That’s what she said on our first date. No dad, mom died when she was young.
The man has the nerve to tut at her and brushes his hand where I still have a firm grip on his shoulder. I don’t move a finger. “I’m also Sterling Hughes. Take your hands off me, boy.” That’s who he is. The artist.
“I don’t care if you’re Jesus Fucking Christ coming back for judgment day. If she tells you to stay away,” I inch my face close enough to bump noses, “you stay the fuck away. Got it?”
In my peripheral, I see Terry dashing his way to us. “Gunn.” Motherfucker isn’t even out of breath. He waits for my instructions.
“Take the trash out, Terry.” I push Hughes in the bodyguard's direction and he catches the man by the lapel of his jacket. “Collect his data, biometrics, and ban his access here.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Terry marches out, dragging the man who pleas for just five minutes of April’s time.
“Are you okay?” She looks nothing but. I rub her arms and she’s quivering like a plucked guitar string.
April’s staring at nowhere, but this feels too out in the open to pull her into a hug. “Doctor, your office. Now.”
My stern tone jolts her into action. “What?”
“Let’s go inside. I can’t hold you in the middle of the parking lot.”
“Great.”
“Great?”
“Yeah. Great. That was my father, Liam.”
“Sterling Hughes is your father? One of the most famous painters in the world?”
“No, that would be my mother, but the world doesn’t know it.”
Grey scrambled eggs. That’s what my brain feels like now. I’m finding it hard to even put a question together and it must show because April fills in the blanks for me.
“Both of them were artists, but they never found success. Got day jobs to pay the bills. Had a baby.” She points at herself with the bitterest smile I’ve ever seen, and the heart I didn’t think I had, cracks. “Dad was ambitious, but too lazy to do anything about it. Mom was lonely and submissive. They fought a lot. Then mom got leukemia.”