Taking Her

by Banks, R. R.

  “Why? What's wrong?”

  He doesn't ask in a tone of voice that sounds like he's actually concerned about me, so much as how it's going to impact him. Typical.

  “What can I do for you, Dad?” I ask.

  “I need you to meet me at Civello's,” he says. “In thirty minutes.”

  “Civello's?” I ask. “Why? What's –”

  “Because I'm your father and your boss,” he says. “Be there. Thirty minutes.”

  The line goes dead in my hand, and I have to swallow the feelings of frustration and irritation I feel rise within me. I'm tempted not to go, just to spite him. But at this point, I know that's only going to come back to bite me in the butt twice as hard. I'm putting together my exit strategy, but it's not finished yet. And until I'm ready to pull the plug, I can't afford to rock the boat.

  I look down at my phone again and decide to push the button and call Connor. Maybe it's good that I'm on a tight schedule today since it didn't give me time to come up with a dozen reasons to put off calling him. I just need to get together with him, explain the situation, and figure out how we're going to proceed from there.

  The line rings three times before it's picked up, but it's not Connor’s voice on the other end of the line.

  “Ms. Nichols,” the man's voice says.

  Confusion washes over me, and I check the display again, looking to see if I called the winery by mistake.

  “Henri?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he replies, and I hear something in his voice – something that drives a shard of fear into my heart.

  “Why are you answering Connor's phone?”

  He lets out a sigh that's filled with nothing but pain and sadness. Instantly, I fear the worst. Connor's dead. How? What happened? My mind races to imagine a thousand different scenarios, each one grislier than the last.

  “What's going on, Henri?” I ask, fear coloring my words. “Is Connor okay? Did something happen?”

  “He was attacked, Ms. Nichols,” Henri says.

  “Attacked? What?” I ask, feeling numb with shock for the second time in an hour. “What happened?”

  “I don't know,” he says. “Evelyn, one of the housekeepers, found him in his driveway. His car was smashed up and he was beaten unconscious.”

  “Oh my God,” I mutter. “Is he okay?”

  “We don't know yet,” he says, sounding absolutely miserable. “We're waiting for the doctors to come out and give us some information. I only answered his phone because he'd want you to know.”

  My stomach is in tight knots for reasons that have nothing to do with my pregnancy. I feel like I'm going to be sick. I'm torn. I need to get to the meeting at Civello’s my father ordered me to, but what I really want is rush to the hospital and be with Connor.

  Questions about Connor are flying through my mind at the speed of light. Who in the hell beat him? What had happened? Was it nothing more than a mugging gone bad? I grumble in frustration.

  “Are you still there, Ms. Nichols?”

  “Yes, sorry, Henri,” I say. “And please, call me Zoe. What hospital is he at?”

  “St. Francis,” Henri replies.

  I can hear the sadness and worry in his voice – which makes me think that whatever's happening isn't good.

  “I have to get to a meeting,” I say. “But –”

  “They're not letting us see him yet anyway,” Henri says.

  I let out a long, worried breath. “Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can.”

  “See you soon,” he says. “We’ll be here.”

  I end the call and drop the phone in my bag. I have no idea what's going on with my father or why he's asked me to meet him at Civello's. It's an upscale Italian restaurant he likes to take clients to when he wants to impress them. Honestly, it's a little too snooty for me, and the food is average, at best.

  But, when daddy says jump – I say, how high? Having lived with that for so long, it's become second nature to me. But slowly, I’ve changed. I'm different now. And I'm not keen on going back to how things were before.

  I remind myself that I need to be patient. For now, I should try to keep up appearances. At least, until I can pull the trigger on my exit plan.

  I jump in my car and fire it up, letting out a low, frustrated growl. I don't have time to play show pony for one of his damn clients. Not when I have no idea what happened or what kind of shape Connor’s in. I'll do my song and dance for my father as quickly as possible. and then I'm out of there.

  Putting the car in gear, I speed off toward the restaurant.

  Chapter Nineteen

  There's a sign on the front door announcing that Civello's is closed for a private event. Confused, I almost turn around and leave. But, the front door opens as an attractive young woman in a dark skirt and white shirt leans out – one of the servers.

  “Ms. Nichols?” she asks. “Zoe Nichols?”

  I look at her, my confusion deepening. Even though she used my name, I have a hard time believing she means me.

  “Umm – yes?” I finally respond.

  “Please,” she says. “Come in and follow me.”

  “I thought you were closed for an event.”

  “We are,” she says brightly, a broad smile on her face.

  “What's the special event?”

  “You'll have to come inside to find out.”

  I take a few, halting steps toward the door, utterly perplexed, my confusion bordering on fear. The waitress reaches out and takes my hand, gently pulling me inside. She shuts the door behind us, revealing that the main room of the restaurant is completely empty. It's a little eerie, honestly.

  Then I hear the sounds of conversation and laughter coming from one of the large banquet halls in the back. I look at the server and see the mischievous glint in her eye. It's like she's in on some big secret I'm not privy to. She ushers me toward the back of the restaurant, a spring in her step that I’m just not feeling.

  I don't like not knowing what’s going on. I'm not the type of person who enjoys surprises. Not in the least. I always prefer to have the lay of the land before I walk into any situation.

  “Do you know what's going on?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “No idea,” she says. “But, everybody back there seems like they're having a good time.”

  She’s lying.

  “It's not even noon yet.”

  She shrugs. “It's happy hour somewhere.”

  I walk into the large banquet hall in the back of the restaurant and see a crowd of people – most of them from the office. My father, all smiles, sees me and strolls over. He puts his arm around my shoulder and squeezes tight.

  “What's going on, Dad?” I ask. “Is this a retirement party I didn't know about?”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “No, something better. Far better.”

  “What?”

  “Don't be so impatient,” he says. “Just enjoy yourself. It is a party after all.”

  I look around and see people stealing glances at me. It's starting to make me feel incredibly uncomfortable, like I'm the butt of a huge joke that everybody is in on but me.”

  “Dad, what is really going on here?”

  He sighs and looks at me with an expression of irritation and impatience on his face. “Do you always have to be this uptight, Zoe? Can't you just relax and have a good time?”

  “Look, I have a – friend – in the hospital,” I say. “Sorry if I’m not feeling all that festive. You told me this was a work thing –”

  “Actually, I didn't,” he says. “All I said was to meet me here.”

  I growl low, under my breath, irritated by the stupid lawyer word games he likes to play. Connor is in the damn hospital. I don't really have the time or the desire to play these silly games right now. Not when I don't know what happened to Connor yet. The tone in Henri's voice scared me. It made me think that Connor is hanging on by a thread or something.

  “Fine. Whatever,” I say. “Since this isn't a work thing, I'm
going to go check on my friend at the hospital.”

  Suddenly, the lights go out and a spotlight at the front of the room comes on. The bright light pivots around the room before finally coming to rest on me. Bathed in that unbearably bright light, I feel completely exposed and I don't like it. Not one little bit.

  My father tightens his grip on my hand, not letting me go anywhere. “You're going to stay put, Zoe.”

  A second spotlight flares to life and shines down on Bryant, who's standing ten feet away from me. I hadn't seen him in the crowd of people. But then I wasn't really looking for him, either. Now that the two of us are the only people illuminated in the entire hall, and I notice the look of hopeful desperation on his face, my stomach sinks. As I begin to realize what’s going on, nausea rolls over me in thick waves, and I can taste bile rising in the back of my throat.

  “Oh, God,” I mutter. “Please don't.”

  The light follows Bryant, whose smile grows wider with each step he takes toward me. I try to pull away from my father, but he grips me even tighter, his hand like a steel vise keeping me in place. Only when Bryant is right in front of me, does my father pass my hand to his. In Bryant’s other hand, he's holding a microphone, a maniacal gleam in his eye.

  “Don't do this,” I whisper.

  The room around us falls completely hushed as everyone cranes their necks to look at us. There is nothing but dark silhouettes crowded all around us and I am starting to feel claustrophobic. I want to turn and run back out into the daylight, away from this madness, but Bryant is gripping my hand tight, holding me in place.

  “Zoe,” he says into the microphone, his voice booming all around the room. “Things haven't always been easy between us. We've had our difficulties...”

  We've had nothing of the sort. There has never been anything between us.

  “... but, like any good couple – call us Romeo and Juliet, if you will...”

  What the shit, Bryant. I try to pull my hand away from him and break free, but he tightens his grip on me, the fanatical gleam in his eye growing stronger.

  “... we've overcome a lot of obstacles to get to the point we're at now,” he crows. “And I, for one, can't wait to see where we go from here.”

  “We're not going anywhere, Bryant,” I whisper softly enough so only he can hear. “Don't embarrass yourself like this.”

  I groan when he falls to one knee and produces a small, black box from his pocket. The crowd around us is tittering with excitement and hushed whispers. All I can do is shake my head. Bryant is holding the box and microphone in the same hand awkwardly, still gripping me tight with his other hand. It's then that I feel my father standing directly behind me with his hands on my shoulders. He must be blocking my escape route.

  Bryant gives him a grateful look and manages to let go of my hand long enough to open the box. The bright spotlights gleam and sparkle off the colossal diamond inside. I don't know how I'm not throwing up right now.

  Bryant looks around at the crowd, a pleased-as-punch smile on his face. I try to turn and run but my father's grip on my shoulders prevents me from moving. He's holding me in place, and no matter how hard I try to break free, I can't.

  “I'm proud to make the announcement that as of today, Zoe Nichols has agreed to be my bride,” Bryant's voice booms through the speakers in the hall.

  As the crowd around us explodes into applause and raucous cheering, Bryant holds the ring out toward me. With my hands now free, I strike quickly, reaching back and smacking him hard across the face. He stumbles to the side, the ring skittering across the wooden floor. The cheering in the hall immediately stops and is replaced by whispered confusion.

  While Bryant tries to regain his composure, I take advantage of the confusion and wrench myself away from my father's grasp. I turn and bolt out the doors to the hall and run through the main Civello’s restaurant. I burst through the doors into the parking lot, wincing at the sudden flood of sunlight. I make it to my car, my hand on the handle of the door, when a hand clamps down onto my shoulder.

  “Zoe, stop this goddamn minute,” my father's voice commands me.

  I turn to face him, not even bothering to mask my fury. “What in the fuck was that, Dad?”

  “That, little girl, was me attempting to protect your future,” he snaps. “A little gratitude would be appreciated. After your little stunt in the restaurant, I had to convince Bryant that you're worth marrying.”

  I recoil as if he'd slapped me. “Worth marrying?” I yell. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  My head is rocked to the side and is followed by a burning sensation on my cheek. It takes me a second to realize that my father just smacked me. I put my hand to my face, the sting bringing tears to my eyes as I glare at him. My father has never struck me before. As I look into his eyes and realize he feels no remorse for his actions, a chill runs through me.

  “I will not be spoken to with such vulgar language, little girl,” he seethes. “I've done everything for you. You don't know how much I've sacrificed to make sure you have the very best in life, Zoe.”

  I stare at him in disbelief, still stunned that he'd slapped me. My father has never, not once in my entire life, laid a hand on me. On some level, I'm trying to come to terms with the fact he just had. However, as the stinging in my cheek slowly fades, my rage boils to the surface.

  “Oh, I suppose it was you who worked your ass off to graduate at the top of your class at Stanford, huh?” I sneer at him. “I guess that was you and not me, huh?”

  “That's not what I meant, and you know it,” he growls. “Stop being so goddamn dramatic, Zoe. For once in your life, think about your future. I'm not going to be here forever, little girl. One day, you're going to have to stand on your own two feet. And maybe, just maybe, having a good, decent man like Bryant beside you will make it easier.”

  “Oh, because I can't possibly do it on my own. Is that right, Dad?” I shout. “I'm so weak and pathetic, I must need a man to take care of me.”

  “Zoe, I swear to God –”

  “Forget it, Dad,” I say. “I'm not going to sit here and listen to you tell me how to live my life. I’m not going to let you force me to marry a man I despise. And I don't appreciate you ambushing me with this bullshit.”

  He raises his hand to me again, but I stand firm, lifting my chin defiantly as I glare at him, daring him to do it. He takes a deep breath and slowly lowers his hand but the fury in his eyes hasn't abated. Satisfied that I made my point, I yank open the car door.

  “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to see a friend in the hospital.”

  It's then I notice the papers that had fluttered out of the car and landed at my feet. My eyes widen when I notice my father is looking down at them, a dark expression on his face when he sees what they are – the pamphlet for pregnancy counseling Dr. Garcia gave me.

  The knots in my stomach constrict painfully tight, and my heart beats even faster than before. I look into my father's eyes and see nothing but rage.

  “Are you pregnant, Zoe?”

  Lying to him isn’t going help at this point. The cat is out of the bag. So, instead of lying, I say nothing.

  “Who is the father?” he asks.

  “You have no right to ask me that,” I say simply. “It's not your business.”

  His eyes widen again as he connects the dots in his head. His gaze lands on me, his jaws clenched, and nostrils flaring. I can honestly say I've never seen him this angry, and truth be told, it's scaring me.

  “Are you carrying the bastard of that Irish son of a bitch?” he hisses. “Is that Connor Grigson's child in your belly?”

  “I'm going now, Dad.”

  I climb into my car and lock the door, leaving my father to scream and yell outside. As I start the car, Bryant steps out of the restaurant and stares at me through the windshield, an inscrutable expression on his face.

  I slam the car in gear and drive out of the parking lot in the direction of the hospital, putting them both behind m
e. Connor, the father of my baby, is in the hospital. That’s all I should focus on right now. I know that, but I can't seem to stop the tears from flowing as I speed away from my terrible past to a horribly uncertain future.

  Chapter Twenty

  Connor

  “I swear to God, I'm fine,” I say as Ashley, my nurse, bustles around me. “Seriously. Bumps and bruises. It's going to take a lot more than that to keep this lad down.”

  “Broken ribs are nothing to laugh at, Mr. Grigson,” she says. “It's best if you stay here a day or two for observation.”

  “Connor, please, love,” I say. “And bollocks to that. I'm well enough to go home.”

  I give her my best thousand-watt smile – only, she doesn't melt. Instead, she gives me a stern look and then looks over at Henri, who smiles and shrugs.

  “Please talk to your friend,” she says. “Convince him that being stupid is only going to hurt him more in the long run.”

  “You heard the lady,” Henri says. “You need to take it easy for a few days, boss.”

  “Et tu, Henri?” I ask. “I'm going to be so bored here.”

  I hear a choked sob in the doorway that draws my attention. I turn and see Zoe standing there, her arms crossed protectively over her chest, her eyes wet with tears.

  “I was so worried about you,” she says, her voice quavering.

  The nurse turns and gives her a sympathetic smile. “Maybe you can convince him to not act like an idiot and stay in bed for a couple of days rather than signing himself out early.”

  “How bad is it?” Zoe asks.

  “Three broken ribs,” the nurse replies. “Lots of cuts and bruises. He'll heal up just fine. Even faster if he shuts it down for a few days.”

  The nurse gives me a pointed look, so I blow her a kiss. She rolls her eyes and turns back to Zoe.

  “Is he always this big of a pain in the ass?”

  “He's usually worse. You're catching him on a good day,” she says.

  “Wonderful,” Ashley replies. “I'm glad I'm off the next couple of days. Good luck.”

  Henri gives me a smile and a nod. “Glad you're okay, boss.”