One Bossy Dare: Chapter 20

The next morning, I knock on Destiny’s door, feeling like the biggest walking shitpile alive.

“Dess?”

Silence.

Swearing, I bang on the door with my fist a few times, but she doesn’t answer. I hold my ear to the door until I hear her breathing.

She’s alive in there, at least.

Eliza’s backbone must be rubbing off. Destiny was never this bad with the stone-cold silent treatment.

Worst of all, I know I deserve it after what went down.

Still, I don’t do well with games.

I’d like to un-fuck my status as everybody’s favorite villain.

“Dess, open up.” I wait another minute before I sigh and say, “I’ve got my Swiss army knife. If I don’t think you’re okay in there, I’ll pull this door right off its hinges.”

“Dad! You’re ridiculous.”

I pull out my knife for show while I hear her stomping over. I wouldn’t actually take her door off—even I’m not that big a prick—but it’s better for her to wonder.

She tears the door open, glaring at me with her lips pursed.

“When it’s important, I need you to answer,” I say neutrally.

She still doesn’t speak and just folds her arms, indignant as ever.

“I’m going to the Wired Cup downtown for a meeting,” I say.

“Really? You woke me up for that?” She gives me a sarcastic thumbs-up.

“Destiny, I’m not asking for the damn moon. I just need you to acknowledge me when I say I’m going out.”

“You want me to talk to you? Fine.” She strains on the tips of her toes, trying and failing to reach eye level. “You’re a sexist, a jerkwad, and a rich bitch!”

“Rich…bitch?” I repeat slowly.

“Yeah! You just—God, you think you’re so much better than everyone else! You just had to assume the guys who stole my necklace were homeless. And I thought you’d actually care a little about the necklace. It was Mom’s last present, wasn’t it? Now it’s gone.”

Fuck.

I clear my throat. “Dess, we’ve already been over this homeless thing. Also, your mom had lot of jewelry—”

“Also,” she cuts in, “Eliza thinks it’s strange that they didn’t take my phone or purse.”

I freeze, cocking my head.

“What?” I have to admit, that is bizarre.

Why the hell would anyone go after that turtle and nothing else? It’s a specialty item you can’t just pawn off as easily as a ring or a bracelet.

“Did they see your phone? Or were they scared off before they could—”

“I dropped it, Dad. But whatever. It doesn’t matter, I guess. Just go to your stupid meeting.”

I hold in a brutal sigh.

She’s right.

I’ve burned this bridge and there’s no sense in playing Hardy Boys with her right now. I have other ways of figuring shit out, anyway.

I start moving away but stop and turn back to her. “Wait. Why am I a sexist pig again?”

“Eliza’s friend, Dakota—you think she’s such a damsel in distress that she can’t go anywhere without her hot married muscle?” She rolls her eyes. “Okay, Boomer.”

“Okay, Zoomer,” I throw back, my nostrils flaring. “For a girl who gets straight As in history, you must’ve forgotten Boomers weren’t born in the 1980s.”

“What-ever. You act like you’re two hundred, Dad.”

“So I’m a vampire and a jerk?” My jaw tightens.

Unbelievable.

“You totally were with Eliza,” she says bitterly. “She’s the one who washed blood off my leg while you were at your dumb meeting and you didn’t even thank her. She just took care of me. She cares, Dad. Then you showed up and started barking crap.”

For a second, I’m speechless.

She’s got me there.

“Just go already,” she says with a sigh, turning her back to me. “Meetings are what you do best anyway.”

My gut sinks because she’s too fucking right.

I’m certainly not at my best right now in this house with a daughter who’s acting like my conscience personified.

I should just go before I dwell on how badly I’ve mucked things up with Eliza for the thousandth time.

How did I let my anger take the driver’s seat? How did I discard a woman who came to my daughter’s rescue?

The same way I blunder through everything else, apparently.

I am a hotheaded fool with a hornet up his ass, and regrettably, I don’t know how to be anything else.

Dealing with old demons almost seems easy after everything else.

I head inside the downtown Wired Cup store to meet an unassuming man with white hair and a brown sports jacket. He waves at me.

“Mr. Lancaster?”

I move to his table and sit down across from him. We shake hands.

“I’m not much for small talk,” I say, dispensing with the niceties. “Give it to me, please.”

“Right. There’s no easy way to say this, Mr. Lancaster, but I think your more colorful suspicions were unfounded. I’ve reviewed the autopsy report. I’ve also talked to people who knew her—the folks she spent the most time with. Everything points to suicide.”

Goddammit.

An iron fist grips my heart and squeezes it dry.

Why am I so shocked? Deep down, a part of me always knew.

“Aster was a young woman prone to bouts of severe depression and distress. She often disappeared from family events without much notice—that’s verified by you and everyone else I’ve talked to in Hawaii.”

I nod, staring into his dark-brown eyes.

“To be clear, I’m sugarcoating it. The chief housekeeper at the Kona estate, Kalani, she told me she’d never met anyone as miserable as Aster.” He pauses like he’s making sure I won’t go to pieces. I nod firmly. “It was very late that night, as you know. Fortunately, your security detail keeps impeccable records. For a second, I thought the records might be too good, so I went back a few years before the incident. Nope, same excellent logs. There was nothing out of the ordinary that night—until it happened.”

I feel my hand shaking under the table and I clench it into a fist against my thigh.

“Is it possible they missed anything?” I ask.

“Possible, but not probable,” he says quickly.

Damn. I stare at him blankly.

“Given her location and the state of the body in the autopsy report, I think we have a pretty clear suicide, even without a smoking gun. I’m sorry. Weather and maritime reported a windy night. Those waters would’ve been choppy—unpredictable—and if she had a couple drinks like the autopsy said, it wouldn’t have taken much at all for her to wind up in a bad situation. The ocean simply claimed her, and she allowed it.”

Bile rises up my throat.

I’m surprised I still feel this sick when I had a feeling this was coming.

“Case closed? That’s it? No alternate theories?” I know I’m reaching, but dammit, I have to if this is the last time.

He leans back in his chair, taking a long sip from his coffee cup.

“You sent me there personally. I did everything short of exhuming the body for another look. But we weren’t looking for poison, of course.” He shrugs. “There’s no good reason to suspect murder. Based on the evidence, it’s unlikely Aster Lancaster accidentally stumbled into the ocean without meaning to be there. She was still wearing her evening attire and her heels were found a little ways away on the beach after she was found, neatly placed together. No fancy theories needed to explain that.”

The word fancy stirs a memory.

That damnable golden turtle hanging from its delicate chain.

“Yeah. Right. There’s one thing I didn’t tell you about…”

He pulls out his notepad. “What’s that?”

“While we were in Kona at the house, my daughter found an intricate turtle necklace in my wife’s old room. An old friend and employee told Destiny I bought it for Aster.” I look down, straining for any hint of recognition. “Hell, he told me the same thing. The trouble is, I don’t remember buying that necklace at all—”

“It was a long time ago. You’d just lost your wife and you had a lot on your mind. It’s common to forget small details when you’re overstressed,” he says calmly.

I press my lips together. “Hear me out. It gets stranger.”

“Okay?” The detective’s eyes are shining with interest now.

“My daughter was attacked recently, here in Seattle. Robbed. Two men off the street shoved her to the ground and made off with that necklace.”

“Ah, I’m truly sorry to hear that. Did she file a police report?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ask them what they thought?” he says carefully.

“Random robbery. Go figure. They don’t think it has anything to do with her being a billionaire’s daughter or else they might’ve done worse.”

He nods. “If the cops were at the crime scene and know the area’s crime record, I’m inclined to believe them—”

“Something bothers me, though,” I cut in.

He waits.

“Who the hell randomly robs a teenager and leaves her iPhone and purse but takes a necklace? She dropped the phone. That was easy loot. They had to get closer to grab the necklace, and a secondhand dealer would’ve paid a pretty penny for that phone. It was almost brand new.”

“Phones are traceable unless they’re totally wiped. Necklaces aren’t. Maybe at first blush they thought it was the highest ticket item,” he says.

“I don’t know, man. It just feels like the damn turtle was the reason for the theft.”

He takes a slow drink of his coffee, studying me like I’m a paranoid nut. He may be right.

“Mr. Lancaster, these old cases are always difficult. When you’re looking back on them years later, it’s easy to find patterns and synchronicities where none actually exist. Sometimes, the simplest answers are the ones you’re looking for—if you can accept them.”

“Shit. Maybe you’re right.” I fall back in my seat. “I thought a second opinion would feel better than this…”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“This just doesn’t feel like closure, you know?” I rake a hand through my hair.

“Can I give you some advice? One former sailor to another?” My shirt is unbuttoned near the collar and his eyes scan the small tattoo there.

“Sure.” Why not? I’ve been on a roll with shitting up my life lately. There isn’t much anyone could advise that could make it worse.

“Let it go,” he says coldly.

“What?”

“It was a decade ago. It won’t be easy, but you’re better off just letting it go.” He pauses, clasping his hands. “Look, if I just told you that your wife was murdered, would you feel any better?”

“No, but—”

“You’d need to track down the killer, right? You’d feel compelled to make sure you got justice. I know your type. You’re the kind of guy who thrives on clear-cut answers.”

I nod.

“You’d have a new mission, only, it wouldn’t end well for you. Not for your daughter, either. So here’s a better one—walk away. Move on with your life and help your daughter move on with hers. You’ll never have a blow-by-blow account of what happened to your wife that day, but if you accept the basic conclusion…do more details matter?”

I raise my eyebrow.

Of course, they matter.

Aster could be ice-cold no matter how often I tried to break through her wall, and harder to please, but she didn’t deserve to drown.

“Would it bring her back?” His tone says he senses my frustration.

“What?”

“If I built a time machine and took you back so you could watch every second play out—but you couldn’t change it—would it bring her back?”

“No. Of fucking course not. But Destiny and I might have closure. It’s her mother we’re talking about.”

“Respectfully, that’s what funerals are for. You and your daughter have all the closure you’re ever going to get. Honestly, Mr. Lancaster, I don’t think beating it into the ground will help.”

I sigh with a weight that tells him he’s right without admitting it.

I thought I’d put this all behind me years ago until being at the Kona house tore open old wounds.

Did I really think I’d get closure if the investigation stated the obvious?

Fat chance.

You know why you care and it’s got nothing to do with Aster, a voice in the back of my head screams.

I see Eliza, asleep on my chest, soft tufts of honey-brown hair being tossed in the breeze until I stroke them down into place again.

Is she the reason why I can’t move on?

No, it’s definitely more than that.

That turtle necklace felt like a curse—and maybe it’s a bigger one now that it’s gone.

Troy’s story about how I bought it for Aster at the market still bothers me. I don’t remember a goddamned thing.

Deep down, I’m sure I never did.

I went to the beach and slept off my jet lag like usual.

And my daughter’s messy hair, tear-stained face, and gashed-up leg after that thing was stolen…the way the robbery seemed so deliberate.

“I know you’re just sharing your wisdom, and I appreciate it,” I tell him. “The robbery still feels out of place, though.”

The detective nods. “It’s gone, isn’t it?”

I blink at him, unsure where he’s going with this.

“Yeah, it’s gone.”

He looks at me like a chemistry teacher waiting for his student to scrawl the last line of some formula.

Aster’s gone.

Her necklace is gone.

Destiny’s attackers are also gone without seriously hurting her, thank God.

Is that his point? Is he right?

Should I just let everything go?

I suddenly hate that I haven’t heard from Eliza since my last few bitter texts.

“Gone is gone, Mr. Lancaster,” he explains. “Even if you’re feeling bothered, in my opinion you’ll do yourself a solid dealing with what’s still here.”

“Thanks for meeting me,” I mutter as I stand.

I barely wait for him to wave goodbye before I’m heading for my car. I punch in Eliza’s contact on my phone from the back seat.

She doesn’t answer.

“Big surprise,” I say to myself, texting her instead.

Can we talk?

My phone dings a couple minutes later.

Eliza: Sure. Do you need a new drink? I’m actually off the clock right now. Why don’t you send the specs to my work email? I’m not sure it’s appropriate for the boss to be texting me on weekends.

Fuck. I’m surprised my screen isn’t frosted over.

At least I got a reply this time. I try calling again.

“Yes?” a voice that’s too frigid and husky to be Eliza’s answers.

“Where’s Eliza?” I growl.

“Fucking a rock star. She tells me he’s way better in bed than her last snarky businessman hookup. Can I take a message?”

“You are?”

“Your worst nightmare. Did you need something, Lump?”

My teeth grit together. Looks like Eliza hasn’t been shy about throwing that stupid nickname around.

“Tell her I need to talk to her. Also, I’m sorry.”

“Hmm, you’re funny. Because those are almost the right words, even if they’re a little bland, but totally wrong order. She’s knows you’re sorry. Now apologize like a man.”

I pull my phone back, staring at the screen in disbelief.

“Is this high school? Put her on now,” I snarl.

“Meh, I guess some things never change. She can’t come to the phone right now and I’m saving her the trouble.”

God, the mouth on this ‘friend.’

“Let me talk to her,” I growl.

“Dude, if she wanted to talk to you, would I be here making you miserable? By the way, a guy from that homeless camp that freaks you out so much saved my husband’s life once. He runs the mailroom at a huge company now, and he takes food back there every weekend. You suck.”

Dakota Burns.

I get it now.

I should’ve recognized that barbed tongue sooner.

“I’ve donated coffee there hundreds of times, for your information. I was worried about my daughter and said shit I never meant.” This is ridiculous.

“Okay, and I’m worried about my friend. I’m nervous she’s getting sucked in with some douchebag who’s just going to break her heart the minute he decides she’s not good enough with her Seattle-sized shoebox apartment.”

“I didn’t mean to cut down her place. I just meant she’d be safer at my house,” I grind out.

“Whatever. Somebody should’ve chosen his words a little more carefully.”

“Dakota?”

“Ohhh, so you do remember me. Don’t wear out the name,” she spits.

“How pissed is she?”

“Ehh, on a scale of cold shoulder to scooping your balls out of your butt with a serving spoon, I’d say she’s probably somewhere around slashing your tires—oh, wait, except it’s your driver’s car. Guess she can’t do that.”

I look down when I don’t hear anything else.

She hung up on me.

I don’t bother calling again. Not while that murder hornet of a woman guards the phone.

At home, I offer to take Destiny out for dinner.

I rattle off a few of her favorite places, even some that would mean driving downtown again. It’s worth it to have one of my girls back on speaking terms.

But at the Mexican place she picks, she sits across from me in the booth and glares at me all through the first course.

By the time our drinks arrive, I think I’d have better conversation with a pissed off cougar.

When I’m picking the last few bites off my plate, I can’t take it. I quickly pay the bill and step outside.

It isn’t until we’re home again that she finally says more than a dozen words. “If Eliza never talks to us again because of you, I’m going to be pissed.”

“Why do you care so much?” I have to know which reason out of a thousand matters most to her.

She crosses her arms.

“She’s my friend. A cool, older one. Like, she would have done things with me the way Christa’s mom does with her.”

I chuckle, rubbing my cheek. “No one’s quite like Christa’s mom. She’s been your homeroom mom since kindergarten.”

“Yep. Christa begged her not to since eighth grade, but everyone else thinks she’s really lucky. Eliza could’ve been that badass, except you chased her away. All because you’re a growly, selfish grumpbutt and—and is anything ever good enough for you, Dad?”

“Not fair,” I flare. “My high standards have never been unreasonable.”

Also, that’s not the point.

“You’ve grounded me for solid Bs on science tests—”

“And you’re an honor student because of it. You always turn it around and ace the class, don’t you?”

She puts her hand on her hip, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, right. Because God forbid I ever pass with an A-minus. My test grades aren’t good enough. Eliza’s apartment isn’t good enough. Your dumb coffee isn’t good enough. It needs to be handpicked by flying monkeys and roasted over a volcano. So dumb,” she adds under her breath.

Or so she thinks.

“I heard that, Dess. It’s never bad for a CEO to bring new products into his business line. It’s an evolving industry and that’s part of the job.” I stop, wondering why I’m defending myself to my fifteen-year-old daughter.

Guilt is a powerful kind of black magic.

“Whatever. You were an epic jerk to Eliza, but this isn’t about her and you know it.” She looks away, her little face flushed red with anger.

“Then what’s it about? Tell me.”

She chews her lip. A crease lines her forehead.

“You’re kind of a control freak. You weren’t there when I got mugged. It was a random, crazy thing and you couldn’t stop it. So now the only thing you can do is criticize Eliza like a total dick.”

“Doctor Philiss, you can go to your room,” I growl, stabbing my finger in her room’s direction.

“Gladly. I’d say I won’t come out for a week, but then you’ll probably take the door off. See? Control freak.” She takes off, stomping up the staircase on her way.

I push my face into my palm with a groan that burns my throat.

It’s amazing. I’ve sealed multimillion-dollar deals and motivated whole teams in the blackest pit of a recession, but when it comes to the people I care about the most?

I’ve got a blind rattlesnake for a tongue.

“Dess?” I call after her before it’s too late, rising from my chair.

“What?” she flings back at me from the landing.

“I apologized to her,” I say, stopping next to the stairs and looking up.

She glowers down at me. “To Eliza?”

I nod.

“What did she say?”

“She wouldn’t take my call.”

“Oh my God.” She shoves her face into her palm, peeking out through her fingers. “You apologized over voicemail? Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Close enough.” I’m not telling a high schooler that I got my face verbally ripped off by her overprotective friend.

Destiny sighs, gripping the banister. “If this doesn’t work out, promise me you’ll never make a Tinder profile. Like, hire one of those millionaire matchmakers like normal rich guys do…”

“Why?”

“Because it’s over. I love you, but you’re as graceful as a walrus when it comes to dating.” She climbs the rest of the stairs in silence, less angry and more mortified now.

Hello, knife to the gut.

That shit smarts, even coming from my sassy daughter.

I watch my phone all night, waiting for a call, for a text to come through that gives me a chance to offer her a real apology.

And just as my little bee predicted, nothing happens.

I stare at the screen until after three in the morning with my eyes bleary and bloodshot before I drag my sorry ass to bed.

Sleep doesn’t come easy.

Especially when I can smell Eliza.

It’s all in my head, I know.

My sheets were washed since the last time she was here, but I swear they’re still tormenting me with her scent.

Heartache is a cruel visitor. It always clings the most when you desperately want it gone.

It reminds me that I’ve done the unthinkable, turning into a lovestruck fool.

Emphasis on fool when I floated the l-word—by text like a chump—and of course she didn’t return it.

My brain rewards my brooding with a feverish slideshow that tastes like the Hawaiian trade winds and tender lips.

Eliza in my arms.

Her smile in my sunlit eyes.

Her tongue radiating passion in my mouth.

Her legs wrapped around me so tight I’m going to explode.

I wake up in the worst state—hard, angry, and exhausted.

I know she hasn’t called or texted before I bother to look at my phone.

God fucking dammit, I hope she’s at work today.

Because if she’s not, Destiny is right.

It’s over, and then my only option is some high-paid cupid setting me up with another arranged relationship. Because the first one worked out so well.

I sit up and bury my face in my hands, swallowing a groan.

Only six a.m. and I’m already fucking gutted.

Snarling, I punch her contact and call her.

Silence.

Happy Monday, I text. I’d greatly appreciate it if you’re available this afternoon for a quick, informal talk with Gina and myself about our winter drink options. Christmas comes earlier every year.

She doesn’t respond. Hell, reading that back, I wouldn’t either.

“Idiot,” I mutter.

By the time I’m showered and heading into work after letting Destiny off at the aquarium, I’m so tense I wonder if I had a staring contest with a Medusa.

I check my email from the back of the car like always.

There’s no resignation or nastygram from HR about Eliza yet.

Maybe she’s just hanging me out to dry.

Should I intrude on her space? Or will that just upset her more?

Yeah, never mind. If I’m even asking the obvious, it’s probably too late to worry.

Eliza Angelo has had enough of my shit.

I blew it spectacularly, and now I wonder if I’ll ever be whole.