I walked into my father’s study, flanked by my bodyguards. He was on the phone. I wasn’t sure he noticed I had entered until he held a finger up to warn me against speaking. I fiddled with my phone until he was finished.
His eyes landed on me. I refused to squirm in the seat. My father wasn’t a large man, but he had the kind of gaze that was imposing. Threatening. Dark. His light brown eyes were as menacing as any set of black coal irises. He had a thin frame that he dressed in expensive Italian suits. I’d never seen my father’s hair out of place, or a stain on his shirt.
It wasn’t until the bodyguards exited that he broke the silence.
I slurped from the coffee cup.
“Kennedy.” His finger tapped on the oversized desk.
“Yes?” My eyebrows rose. I realized my mistake when the headache pinched together at my temple. “You needed me for something? Are you okay? Are you feeling all right?”
“You know exactly why you’re here.”
I shrugged. “I don’t want to guess.”
His scowl had cut down men three times my size. Yet, I still pushed boundaries. I tested him. I looked for way to press his buttons. I created these situations, and I hated them. Sometimes I thought I hated him. I hated my own father.
“We’ve been in New Orleans exactly one week and you’ve already become cheap gossip.”
I blinked. “I don’t like those words. Cheap gossip? What does that even mean?”
His cheeks began to redden. “It means you have embarrassed me. You have no regard for who I am. Our family name.” His palms flattened into the mahogany desktop. “There are pictures of you dancing on a pool table. Do you even play pool?”
I swallowed hard. “No.”
“Then why were you on top of one?”
I couldn’t stand the glare. I flinched for a second. But it was long enough that I lost the edge I had. I felt my stomach flip and my lungs strain for air. My palms became sweaty.
“You told me to socialize. I socialized.” My defiance was cracking.
“You were drunk, weren’t you?”
I used the manicured point of my thumb nail to carve my initials into the coffee cup.
“Answer me,” he growled.
“Yes. I had too many glasses of champagne,” I lied. I’d had shots of Fireball and some other hideous mix of liquor in a shot glass. “Okay? Is that all?” I began to rise to my feet. “I didn’t even know anyone there.”
“Sit,” he muttered between clenched teeth. “They know who you are now.”
“Dad, I’m not sixteen. This seems dramatic, even for you.”
“No, you’re not a teenager any longer. You’re acting like a spoiled princess,” he seethed. “Kennedy, we have uprooted the entire business. I am establishing myself in New Orleans. You are part of this venture. A crucial part. You can’t get drunk and dance on pool tables. There are pictures of your night out. I have clients who could see you. What in the hell were you thinking?”
“Okay. So, this is about you.”
“It’s always about me.” Our eyes met and I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold the posturing. My eyes stung and my mouth went dry. “I hold the keys to your future. I am the one to pass on your fortune. I keep you safe. I am the head of this family. Damn it. You have no respect. None. And there is a consequence.”
I jerked my head to the side. I didn’t want to see when his fist pounded the table, knocking a teacup to the floor. My eyes closed and I held my breath. The china met the hardwoods and I heard the crack of fine porcelain.
“Kimble and Joseph will be assigned to you twenty-four seven.”
“Who?”
His eyes narrowed. “Your new detail.”
“Oh, right.”
My father continued with the outline of my punishment. “The only social engagements you are allowed to attend are the ones I decide you attend.”
I bit my lip.
“Your social media accounts will be stripped tonight. I’ve already called in IT to handle it.”
“You can’t do that,” I protested. “I didn’t post any of them on my pages.”
“But you were tagged. You need to learn how to walk through this city like a ghost.”
“A ghost or a prisoner?” I whispered.
My father rounded his desk and leaned over me. He had never struck me, but I always wondered how close he had been to slapping me across the face. Just one comment. One rude question. I was always within a breath of being on the receiving end of his open palm.
“You are the daughter of Lucien Martin. You will learn what that means. If I have to lock you in your room like a prisoner, I will do it. You are not a prisoner, yet.”
The words made my skin break out with in cool perspiration. I could feel it on the back of my neck and on my stomach. I didn’t want him to know.
“Is that all?” I dared to ask a question.
“Tell Kimble you’re going to your room for the rest of the day. You look tired.”
I nodded as I squeezed between my father and the chair, but not before his fingers dug into the upper part of my arm.
“This is your only warning, Kennedy.”
“I understand.”
His fingers unwound and I knew there would be indentations in my skin.
I tugged on the heavy door into the hallway. The maid was polishing a set of silver candlesticks.
“Mr. Martin dropped a cup,” I informed her. “There’s broken glass on the floor.”
“Oh, yes. I’ll get it.” She tucked the polishing cloth in the front of her apron and walked briskly to the supply closet.
I absently turned to see one of the two suits only inches from me. “Which
