Hardwired (The Hardwired Series) (Volume 1) (23 page)

“Then why didn’t you just invest when you had the chance? What’s the difference now, other than you flying into a rage every time I get within five feet of another man?”

“I was more interested in figuring you out than writing you a check. I knew if I passed, Max would pick it up. I was right. Now...things are different. I care about you, and I want to care about the things that matter to you.”

The proclamation settled over me, and a little part of me even wanted to give in. I’d spent weeks harboring doubts about the business because he’d passed so easily. To know that he’d seen value from the start was reassuring, but this didn’t change the fact that mixing business with pleasure, at least to this degree, was a terrible idea.

“I appreciate that, but it’s not a good reason to invest. It’s bad enough that you and Max have issues, but I can’t put the business at risk if you and I have tension. It’s just too much.”

He was silent, but I sensed that the conversation was far from over. He drew me closer and tucked me against his chest where I fell asleep, warm and safe.

* * *

I checked my email in the morning, still worn out from the previous night. Blake had woken me more than once, possibly attempting to screw me into surrender on the investment issue. I didn’t argue, but I didn’t surrender, at least when it came to the business.

I fished through the junk mail until I hit a message from Sid titled “Results.” My stomach dropped.

Erica,

Wasn’t as hard as I thought. Daniel Fitzgerald, Class of 1992, Economics major. Google “Daniel Fitzgerald Boston.”

Sid.

I opened a new tab and typed in the search. The first result showed attorney biographies at a law firm where his name was listed first as a partner. The second result was an official website for Daniel Fitzgerald’s run for governor of Massachusetts, featuring a stylish red, white, and blue logo and a catchy campaign slogan. Beneath was a photo of an aged version of the man in the photo.
Oh God.
I scrambled for my phone and called Marie.

“Hey, baby girl,” she answered happily.

“Daniel Fitzgerald,” I said.

“What?”

“That’s the man in the photo.”

“Oh.” She sounded more resigned than surprised.

“I know Mom didn’t tell me for a reason, but I need to know.”

“Erica, I—”

“Marie, I have a
right
to know. You were her best friend. If anyone would know who my father is, it’s you.”

She was silent for a long stretch before speaking. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“He’s your father.”

“Oh, God.” My face dropped into my palm, my head suddenly spinning. I’d had my suspicions, of course, but I half expected her to say no. To lie or to tell me I was crazy thinking up something so far-fetched. Now, faced with the truth, I didn’t know what to feel.

I’d spent my whole life accepting the shadow of his absence, ignorant to the other half of my origins. But had I ever truly accepted it? By the time I was old enough to really demand the truth, my mother had been gone. Knowing that no one could ever hope to fill that place in my heart, I never bothered to seriously wonder who he could be.

Now, I had a thousand questions and no answers. Did he even know I existed? Did he love my mother? What was he like?

“Honey, are you all right?” Marie interrupted my reeling thoughts.

“Did you know he’s running for governor?” The one thing I did know about him was the one thing that could keep us apart. I had no idea how I’d get through the layers of people that surrounded him for a chance to know him.

“No, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“It’s not going to be easy connecting with him,” I said.

“Just be careful, honey.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t know what you’re walking into with him.”

“What do you mean? Should I be worried about something?”

“You’re a smart girl. Just pay attention and don’t let your guard down,” she said quietly.

“Okay.”

I hung up with Marie and collected my thoughts.

I stared at the photo on his website, wishing I knew the man on the other side. Not the lawyer or the politician, but the man.

I clicked around and learned as much as I could about him, which only reinforced how difficult it would be to get a meeting with him. I couldn’t simply walk into his office and announce myself. The idea of Blake as a connection crossed my mind, but I squashed that idea. I didn’t want to associate him with any of this, for my sake and his.

I scrolled through my phone and called Alli. We still hadn’t spoken, and I was shocked when she picked up.

“I’ve been trying to reach you,” I said, trying not to sound as concerned as I was.

“I know, I’m really sorry. I’ve been flat out with work, and dealing with all this crap with Heath doesn’t help either.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“How’s Heath?”

“He seems good...better. He’s in L.A., so I can’t go see him right now with work.”

“Right,” I said. “I can’t imagine what this has been like for you.”

She laughed listlessly. “I’m thinking I should have majored in psychology instead, because being with him has been like dating two completely different people.”

“Except you’re in love with one of them.”

She sighed on the other end.

“Alli, I know I haven’t always been the most supportive friend when it comes to Heath, but I hope you know you can talk to me about this. This came as a shock to me, but I want to be here for you. You’re still my best friend. I don’t want this to keep us apart.”

“Thank you,” she said. “That means a lot. Obviously, I can’t talk to my parents about any of this. They would completely freak out.”

“Hopefully Heath can get straightened out before you have to.”

“Hopefully.”

I tapped my fingers on the counter. “So I have some interesting news.”

“What’s that?”

“I think I found my father.”

“What?”

“I need your help though. He’s some big-wig lawyer and running for governor, so I have no idea how I’m going to get in touch with him. You know, discreetly. I was hoping you had some ideas.”

“Wow, okay. Let me see what I can do. I know some people at the Review. We might be able to request an interview.”

Alli’s mood had shifted. She was suddenly peppy with a new mission. The girl was born for marketing.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, I’ll call you later.”

I wanted to move things forward with meeting Daniel, but I hated that so much time had passed without connecting with her. Hopefully we were over that, at least until Heath came back on the scene.

“Sounds good,” I said and hung up.

Nervous, I flipped through a magazine until Daniel Fitzgerald’s beautiful blond receptionist gave me the go ahead to enter. The offices of Fitzgerald & Quinn were nestled in the heart of Boston’s financial district, and the large corner office I stepped into left little doubt that the man in front of me was one of the most important executives in the city’s corporate landscape. Dressed in an imposing three-piece suit, he pored over the paperwork on his double pedestal desk, his reading glasses resting on the ridge of his nose. He was no longer the carefree young man I’d seen in the photo.

“Mr. Fitzgerald.” My voice faltered at the simple greeting.

He looked up at me, a mirror of my own cool blue eyes. His hair was graying and his face was lined, but he was still very handsome. The essence of the man in the photo was recognizable.

“I’m Erica Hathaway.” I reached out to shake his hand.

He rose to greet me and motioned me to the chairs in front of his desk with a pleasant smile. “Erica, please have a seat.”

I settled into one and breathed in the rich aroma of well-loved leather.

“Let’s see. You’re with the Harvard Review?” He arched a brow at me.

“Well, about that—”Alli had gotten me the interview under the guise of being with the well-known publication, and if this didn’t go well, someone would probably get kicked off the staff because of the favor she pulled.

He looked at me expectantly.

I swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
Here goes nothing.

“Does the name Patricia Hathaway mean anything to you?” I asked finally, watching him intently as I spoke the words.

If the mention of her name meant anything to him, he didn’t show it, his face frozen, void of emotion. His blue eyes bore into me, giving nothing away.
 

He glanced to his watch casually. “I’m not sure it does. How does this pertain to the interview, young lady?” His voice was even and incredibly composed.

I swallowed hard, fighting the sudden urge to throw up. Was I crazy for doing this? What if I was wrong? What if Marie had misinformation?

I shoved the doubt out of my mind and focused on the present. I looked down at my hands that were twisted anxiously in my lap. “I’m Patricia Hathaway’s daughter. I was hoping I could speak to you about that.”

He rose abruptly. He crossed the office with fluid grace, shut the door, and then returned to his seat. His eyes fixed on his desk.

A long silence fell between us, and within it, the truth hit me. My body felt numb at the realization.

“Where are you going with this?” He whipped his glasses off and tossed them onto the desk, revealing a hardened stare.

Oh my God.
My doubts gave way to the unmistakable truth that this man really was my father. I could feel it. I gripped the edge of the seat, my palms sweating profusely. I offered up a silent prayer he didn’t kick me out on the spot after I said what I was about to say.

“I’m—” I tried to imagine myself saying the words, but they caught in my throat. They sounded crazy and presumptuous. But they were true. I knew it. What if he didn’t believe me? I shut my eyes tight and blurted it out before I lost my resolve. “Mr. Fitzgerald, I believe I’m your daughter.”

He leaned back in the chair, his jaw tight, his eyes penetrating mine. We stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. My heart pounded in my chest, the anticipation of what he might say or do hung in the air between us.
 

He exhaled slowly and leaned forward into his desk. “So let’s get down to it. Is this about money? If so, just let me know how much we’re talking about.”

I struggled to speak, but his words had cut through me. He thought I was extorting cash from him?
No, no, no. Shit.
I shook my head frantically and rubbed the space between my brows. This was going all wrong. “It’s not like that. I just wanted to meet you. That’s all.” I didn’t need anything from him. At least nothing like that.

He hesitated for a moment before he leaned forward on his desk again, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I can’t say I was expecting this.”

“Neither was I, to be honest. I never thought I would meet you.”

“Likewise.”

 
“Listen, um, Erica.” He cleared his throat and rearranged some papers on his desk. “This isn’t really the time or the place to delve into this, I’m afraid.”

I nodded. “I know. I’m sorry—”

“I’m in the middle of this campaign. They schedule me fifteen minutes at a time here so I have another meeting shortly.”

I stilled as I caught his meaning. If I wasn’t a threat, he didn’t have time for me. My throat thickened and my eyes burned with unshed tears.
What a waste of time.
The part of me that had held out so much hope for this meeting now flooded with painful regret. I should have known better. This was stupid, foolish. If only Marie hadn’t shown me that goddamn photo...

“I understand.” I reached for my purse, hoping I didn’t appear as hurt as I felt. “It was a pleasure meeting you, in any case. Good luck with the campaign.”

I rose to shake his hand and glanced down, avoiding his eyes. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how I was hurting. He caught my hand and held it a moment longer.

“Tell Patty I said hello, all right?”

“She’s dead.” My voice was flat, emotionless. Of course he would assume she was still alive. She’d been taken from me too soon.

He exhaled in a rush, his hand dropping from mine. I caught a shadow of emotion pass over his eyes. He rubbed at his chest, wincing with the motion. “I had no idea.”

I nodded. “She passed away when I was twelve. Pancreatic cancer. But she didn’t suffer long.” My voice was quiet as I spoke the words, steady and objective, as if I were talking about someone I barely knew, detaching myself from the emotions as soon as they threatened to show up. Today was not the day to revisit my grief. I was hanging on a by an emotional thread as it was.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. You couldn’t have known.”
Right?

I turned to go and he stopped me, placing a powerful hand on my shoulder to still me. “Erica, wait.”

My eyebrows shot up and my heart raced from the roller coast of emotions rushing through me the past few moments.

“My family and I are spending some time on the Cape this weekend. Maybe we could...catch up? Talk through this a bit more.”

“Sure,” I said quickly. I smiled, and took a deep breath, feeling a weight lift from my body at the offer.
Did he mean it?

“Wonderful.” He smiled.

“Mr. Fitzgerald—”

“Please, call me Daniel—I guess.” He shrugged nervously. He looked more human, less formidable now than before.
 

I relaxed, and a seedling of hope grew within me. “Daniel, I’m sorry about this approach. I don’t suppose there’s ever really a good way to do this.”

“Probably not.” He scribbled an address on a monogrammed notepad and handed a sheet of paper to me. “Here’s the address of the house. Let’s plan for dinner on Friday then. You can stay as long as you’d like.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

He rose, showing me to the door. “Me too.”

I gave him an awkward wave goodbye. We were nowhere close to being on hugging terms.

* * *

Back at the apartment I took a long soak in the claw foot tub that stood in the center of my adjoining bathroom. Sure, it was midday, but today was no ordinary day. Today had been possibly the most intense of my adult life, and it most certainly could have been worse. Still, I needed to take things down a notch. I took a little sip of my white wine when the phone rang beside me, startling me as it shattered through my moment of peace and momentarily silencing the soundscapes playing through my phone.