The angle was wrong, the light shit, a halo behind her head from the window. He’d not tagged the author of the book or book title.
But she looked . . . happy. Content.
Come to Manchester for the music. Stay for the views. #Morningflower #LuLowforthewin
Quickly she typed a comment. Miss you already. Hurry home.
She placed her phone back down on the counter. And as she looked around, she realised she meant every word. Willow patted her stomach gently. “Come on, Cletus, let’s go for a walk.”
By the time she called her father eight hours later, she’d stress sweated her way through two T-shirts and had eaten—then regretted—a weird chocolate thing called a Walnut Whip that Luke had declared one of his favourites and told her she had to try. Her mouth was dry, despite the two litres of water she’d already drunk.
And now, she had to pee. Again. Jesus. No. It could wait.
She grabbed her phone and dialled her father. It took a moment for Darrin to answer.
“Willow. Where the hell have you been? And what the hell are you doing with Luke Bryson?”
“As I told you in the message. I needed to take a break. Refill my creative well. Have a life of my own. I’m in England for a while. I’m fine.” The lie sat heavy on her tongue. There would be time for her father to find out the truth, but she didn’t want to conflate things. Her trip, the baby, and the reason for the call needed to stay separate. At least for now. “We hit it off in Detroit and stayed in touch.”
“He’s not the right fit for your brand. You could damage your collabs.”
If only he knew just how much her collaborations were already at risk. But she wasn’t explaining it to him yet. They had other fish to fry. “Dad. You have no say in my personal life.”
“Well, can you not share the guy all over your feed? He has tattoos on his goddamn neck.”
And his abs, and his arms, and his groin. Just thinking about his ink made her shiver. “That means nothing, and you know it.”
“You need to come home. There are some endorsements we need to discuss. And there are some collaborations.”
As her father rattled off the list of details, she realised not once had he asked how she was. Not that he knew about the baby. He’d find that out with the rest of the world when they were ready to announce. But it still hurt that he didn’t think to ask.
“Listen, Dad. I didn’t call to deal with logistics. I need a serious conversation with you about the state of the business. My business. I want to see where all my money has gone.”
“What do you mean, where my money has gone? You got paid, I paid expenses, put the rest into your account.”
“I know, Dad.”
“Well, if you know, why are you asking me about this?”
“I mean, I know. Over the last few weeks, I’ve gotten copies of all of my movie and TV series contracts. I’ve got a fair chunk of the contracts from collaborations and product placements. I know how much I’ve been paid by you. You bought the house with my first movie’s salary, and you put it in your own name. Technically, the Malibu house is mine.”
“Wait a goddamn minute. That house is mine. I gave up my career for you, to take you around the country to film those movies.”
“Dad. You worked at a lumber yard. While it was an honest day’s work, it was hardly a fast-track career. What you got paid there was a hell of a lot less than you took from me. It wasn’t a sacrifice. There’s a reason you’ve always pushed me. There are millions of missing dollars. I wanted to talk through with you how to make it right before I take it any further.”
“What do you mean by taking it further?”
Willow sighed, thinking of the best way to persuade him. “I’d hate for this to become a messy public legal issue. You’d look bad.”
“You don’t know shit. This is all above board, even my fees.”
“I checked. The average agent fee is between ten to fifteen percent. You’ve been taking thirty-five based on a contract you had drawn up when I was six that I signed in printed letters. You’ve been taking advantage of me.”
“I don’t know who has been filling your head with all these stupid ideas.”
“Ideas? I have proof. Over the last month, I’ve made copies of files, emails, contracts, bank statements and salaries. My starting point is twenty million, either privately or through the courts. Unless you can legitimately prove otherwise.”
For a moment, her father didn’t speak.
“You’ve got your facts all wrong,” he said. “Math was never your strongest subject. There are taxes, and expenses, and all kinds of fees. You aren’t left with anywhere near as much as you think. You think you are entitled to more, but you’re wrong.”
“If I’ve got my facts wrong, prove it. Show me the balanced books that account for all the funds. Should be easy, right? I know there were decisions you and Mom had to make. But there is so much missing. And the house in Malibu is worth so much money, now. If we sold it, we could both buy our own places.”
And suddenly she felt it down in her bones that she didn’t want to move back there, no matter what happened between her and Luke.
“Yeah, well. I’m not going to discuss this with you over the phone. You need to come back home and stop this garbage.”
“It’s not garbage. It’s facts. I need to consolidate my financials. I’m taking control of me, my business, and my brand.”
“You’re an employee of this company. It’s not yours to control. Any further conversation about money will have to be through lawyers. You know who mine are. Get yours to contact mine. I’ll see you before the end of the week.”
The phone went dead.
Jesus.
She’d not expected it to go well. But she’d at least expected more of a conversation.
Quickly, she dialled her lawyer’s number, leaving a detailed voicemail message.
Then she called one of the few people she could trust.
“Willow,” John said, before she could talk. “How’s England treating you?”
“It’s good, John. Rainy. Too much tea. But good.”
“Did you want Riley? Because she’s not home right now. She’s out with Jules and company.”
Willow took a deep breath, feeling a little envious that life was continuing on without her just fine. “No, I wanted to speak with you. Do you know a good accountant?”
“Sure. My guy is great. I’ll text you his details.”
“Thanks, John.”
There was a pause. “Hey, are you okay? You . . . don’t sound like you.”
“I’m going to try to legally and financially emancipate from my dad. But he didn’t take it very well. He owes me a lot of money.”
“Oh, sweetheart. You need a lawyer.”
“I have one of those. And they are working with a forensic accountant. But I need someone to advise me now on what I have and how I should protect it.”
“Got it. But logistics aside, how are you really?”
For a moment she considered telling him about the baby but decided against it. Not like this, over the phone, in a hurry. “It’s a lot.”
“I bet. You didn’t go to England because of this, right? I mean, you could have come and stayed with us. We’ve got your back, Willow.”