Chapter 25

Quentin

"Care to explain the rationale behind your decision?" My father glares at me from across the expanse of the teakwood table in his corner office.

Arthur might come into work a few days in a month, but he insists on maintaining his office space in the iconic Davenport-owned building. Situated on the banks of the Thames River, the offices boast views of the London Eye, St. Paul's, and the Tower Bridge, with the skyline of the Central Business District, also called the City, in the distance.

I've been putting off telling him about my decision, but I know there"s no getting around it. Knowing he'd be in today, I stalked into his office. When I told him I"d postponed the wedding, he was pissed.

He's keen to get me and his grandsons settled and help him in growing the Davenport group.

I refuse to become another successful statistic of his schemes—but for the fact that meeting Vivian awakened the possessive instincts in me. I admit, Arthur's condition that I need to marry to lock down my position as CEO also influenced me. But if I hadn't met Vivian, I doubt I'd have acted so quickly to comply with his stipulation.

"You're making a mistake," Arthur declares.

"It's my life." I shrug.

He leans back in his seat. "That's where you are wrong. I gave you life."

"And it's mine to live."

"Not if you want to continue as the CEO of the info-communications division."

I curl my fingers into fists. Had I thought my father would try to understand my point of view? Why would I think he'd have an iota of empathy in him?

"You must realize that my bride-to-be is the woman Felix almost married."

"But he didn't," Arthur points out.

"I'm aware. Doesn't change the fact that my son harbors feelings for her."

Arthur arches an eyebrow at me. "Your point being?"

Of course, he's going to make me spell it out. "I want to try and mend fences with my son before it's too late. I want him on board before I marry Vivian."

Arthur shakes his head. "You're getting distracted. The point is, you need to marry—and quickly—in order to confirm your role as CEO."

"It can wait a little longer," I argue.

"No, it can't."

"What the devil are you talking about? Nothing's going to happen if I wait another month to marry Vivian, and it gives me time to build a rapport with Felix. In fact"—I stab a finger at him— "I recommend that you aim to forge a connection with your son, the way I am with Felix. Try it Arthur; you'd be surprised at how good it feels."

Ignoring my last statement, he places the tips of his fingers together in front of him. "I thought you had the balls to go through with this."

Of course, he has to call my masculinity into question because I happen to talk about feelings. Is it any wonder I'm emotionally stunted with this man for a father? All the more reason not to let this cycle repeat with my son.

"And I will." I set my jaw. "Just not now."

"It has to be now. Firstly, because I've already arranged for an announcement in the newspaper publicizing your engagement, and secondly?—"

"What the fuck? Why would you do that?" The last thing I need is for Felix's mother to see the news and pop back into my life to make more trouble for me. She managed to make an appearance whenever I got promoted in the navy and was on shore leave. It took me a while to connect the dots, but I realized her appearances coincided with something of importance that was about to take place in my life. I'll bet it's a matter of time before she does so again, once news of my impending marriage reaches her.

"Language," Arthur warns.

"You and I both know you're used to hearing worse."

He sets his lips in a straight line. "As I was saying before I was interrupted... Secondly, I don't have much time left, I want to see my son and grandsons married before?—"

"Bull-fucking-shit. You're not going anywhere soon; we both know that."

Tiny, Arthur's Great Dane, raises his head from where he's been reposing next to his chair and whines. He must sense the tension in the air.

"Sorry, ol' boy," I say in a soothing voice.

Arthur pats the dog. Once the mutt lowers his head onto his giant front paws, Arthur turns to me with a strange look in his eyes. "And what if I tell you my days are numbered?"

"What do you mean?" I frown.

For the first time in my life, a look of uncertainty comes over Arthur's features. "It's nothing." He swipes his hand through the air. "Forget I said anything."

"Spit it out. What are you hiding?"

"It's none of your concern." He shuffles the papers on his desk, and his hand trembles. What the—! Arthur Davenport never gets nervous. So, what is he playing at? When I continue to glower at him, he sighs. "You've made up your mind, and obviously, there's nothing I can do to sway it."

My frown deepens. It's not like Arthur to give up that easily. I came in here expecting a full-on fight with him, and in a way, I'm disappointed he didn't try harder to get his way. It makes me suspicious. "What are you up to Arthur?"

He stills his actions, and when he looks at me, that hesitation on his features has bled into his eyes. "I wish I could say that this is all part of a bigger nefarious plan, but it is not."

"The fuck you mean, old man?"

He hunches his shoulders and seems to shrink in size. Suddenly, the desk dwarfs him, and the office seems too overpowering for his presence. He seems to have aged in a matter of seconds and looks every day of his eighty-two years.

"It's nothing," he protests again, but the fight seems to have gone out of him.

I rise to my feet and lean forward. "What are you hiding?"

"It doesn't matter. I don't want to cause more stress to the lot of you."

"A little too late for that. Besides, let me worry about that. If there's something you should be telling us?—"

The door bursts open, and a woman storms in. She's wearing motorcycle boots, leather pants and a jacket. She's carrying a helmet under her arm and is panting. Her brown hair is interspersed with strands of grey and blue. I recognize her as Zoey's grandmother Imelda. But what is she doing here?

She stomps toward Arthur, then raises the helmet and throws it at him. With an alacrity that belies his years, Arthur ducks.

"You motherfucker!" the woman growls as she closes the distance to him. "You shit-eating wanker."

Tiny springs to his feet. He takes one look at the advancing woman, then wisely, walks around her, giving her a clear berth, and stops by my side. I pat his head, and the two of us watch as she comes to a stop in front of Arthur. The look on Arthur's face, though… I suppress a laugh. It's the first time I'm seeing him gob smacked. Another first for me.

"Imelda, now, I'm sure I can explain, honey," he murmurs.

"Honey?" It's my turn to be shocked. I pick up my jaw from the floor and stare as the woman slams a fist into Arthur's table. "You two-faced, loose-bottomed, sandy-balled twat."

I wince. So does Arthur. He begins to rise to his feet, but Imelda stabs a finger at him. "Sit the fuck down, you wanker."

Arthur sits. And I'm back to gaping. I glance down at Tiny to find he has his mouth open and tongue lolling, as well. Tiny meets my gaze, then huffs. Is the mutt chuckling? Nah, not possible. Tiny looks back at Arthur. So do I, in time to see Imelda's shoulders shake.

"Why didn't you tell me about the doctor's diagnosis?!"