It was Memphis’s turn to blink.
“You signed a noncompete clause,” her father declared.
“Your point?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“You’re working at a hotel.”
“Is that what you’re worried about, Dad? That I’ll share company secrets? I’m a housekeeper. And Quincy, Montana, isn’t exactly the market for a Ward Hotel development.”
“I could take you to court.”
Was this motherfucker really threatening to sue his own daughter?
“Sue me.” Memphis shrugged. “Noncompetes are not enforceable in Montana. Yes, I checked. Nor have I violated the terms of my nondisclosure agreement by sharing confidential Ward Hotel information. But sue me. If you want to sever the very thin threads of our relationship, sue me. In the highly unlikely event a judge rules against me, then you can have the twenty dollars to my name. I’ll scrub bathrooms and make beds until I earn another twenty. But threatening me, ordering me around, didn’t work in New York. It sure as hell won’t work here.”
That was my girl. There was the fire. It took every ounce of restraint to keep quiet, but she didn’t need me stepping in for her. I would if I had to, but determination was creeping into her eyes. Like she was getting the chance to say the things that had been building in her mind for months.
“You have thirty seconds to load up that child and get into the car.”
“Or what?”
“Or you’ll hear from our lawyers.”
Memphis shook her head. “Why are you really here? Why have you been calling? What do you want from me?”
Her father stood taller. “You are my daughter. There are things to discuss. In private.” The man’s eyes flicked to mine. Maybe he realized right away that I wasn’t the type to be intimidated, but his gaze didn’t hold mine for long.
“I have nothing to discuss with you.” Memphis crossed her arms over her chest.
He reached for her, wrapping an arm around her elbow.
And that’s when I got really fucking pissed.
I grabbed that bastard’s wrist and tore it free. “You’re trespassing. Get the fuck off my property.”
“You have no say in this.” He shook his hand free, stretching for Memphis.
“Touch her again and they’ll never find your body.”
The mother gasped. The father paled, barely, but it was enough.
Without another word, I clasped Memphis’s hand and stormed past them, walking so fast that she had to jog every few steps to keep up.
The oven timer was beeping when we walked inside. I handed over Drake, kicked the door closed and stalked to the oven, taking out the quiche. The crust’s edges weren’t burnt but they were too dark.
I braced my hands on the sink, staring through the window as her parents climbed into their vehicle and disappeared. “Memphis—”
When I turned, she was standing by the window closest to the door, her eyes glued on the road. A stream of tears streaked down her face and she held Drake so tight that he began to squirm.
“Memphis.” I strode to the windows, reaching for Drake. But she didn’t let him go. “Give me the baby, honey.”
She shook her head. “I’ve got him.”
“I’m just going to set him down so we can talk.”
It took her a moment, but she finally let him go so I could lay out the blanket and set him down to play. Then I returned to the window and wrapped her up in my arms.
“Why won’t they forget me?” she whispered. The pain in her voice was enough for me to hate them and I didn’t even know their names.
“Because you’re hard to forget.”
“I hate that I’m crying.” Her voice cracked.
“Why?”
“Because after all they’ve done to me, I shouldn’t care. But I do.” A sob escaped. “For a moment, when I saw them drive up, I thought . . . maybe they were here to apologize. Maybe they were here to give me a hug and say they missed me. And I was so happy to see them because for better or worse, they are my parents. But they don’t care. Why don’t they care about me?”
She fell forward and had I not been holding her, she would have crumpled to the floor. So I spun her in my arms and held her tight, letting her cry into my T-shirt. When she finally stopped, she stood straight and the look on her face was heartbreaking.
She looked more beaten down than she had on the day she’d arrived.
“They didn’t even ask about Drake.” Her chin quivered. “They’ve never even asked me his name.”
“I’m sorry.” I used my thumb to catch a tear. “I’m so sorry.”
“They are ugly, aren’t they?” Memphis stepped away and walked to Drake, dropping on her knees at his side. Then she held his hand, drawing comfort from his tiny fingers. “We don’t need them, do we?”
No, they did not.
“I forgot his diapers.” Her shoulders fell.
“I’ll go get them.”
“I can.”
“No. You stay.” I was too pissed to stay still and needed the task to calm down before Memphis and I had a conversation.
I marched to the loft, the scent of Memphis’s soap in the air. There was an empty laundry basket on the counter so I swept it up and filled it to the brim. Diapers. Formula. Shampoo. Clothes. If I had to move her into my place one laundry basket at a time, so be it.
When I made it home, Memphis had moved to the living room. Drake was sucking down a bottle and she was curled into the corner of the couch, shrinking into the cushions.
Fuck those people.
“What are their names?” I asked, setting the basket down and taking the seat beside her. “Your parents. What are their names?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“So that when I curse them, either in my head or out loud, I can be precise.”
She gave me a sad smile. “Beatrice and Victor.”
Fuck Beatrice and Victor. “What am I missing, Memphis?” Because there had to be more to this story. Why had she declined her mother’s calls? Why had her mother kept calling? Why had they come to Montana to try and drag her back to New York?
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But if I had to guess . . . I’d say they found out about Drake’s father.”
“You ready to tell me about that?”
“No,” she whispered. “Not yet.”
“Soon, honey.”
Dread crept into her expression.
A knot formed in my gut.
Another woman with secrets.
I guess I did have a type.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MEMPHIS
Knox rapped his knuckles on the bathroom door, then walked to me at the counter, setting down a steaming mug of coffee. “Here, honey.”
“Thanks.” I put my brush down and gave him a smile through the mirror. My hair hung in damp strands down my back and the plush white towel I’d cinched around my chest was so big it hit me at the knees.
He dropped a kiss to my bare shoulder and gave me a look that said today wasn’t going to be the relaxing, stress-free Sunday I’d hoped for. Our Saturday hadn’t been a lot of fun either.