I may be stuck in this for the long haul with Colette, but I’m tired of limiting myself. I’m tired of being treated like shit. I deserve better.

Yes, I’ve made my mistakes but a real wife would have forgiven me by now. I have forgiven her countless times before. If she truly cared, she wouldn’t keep holding so much against me.

I don’t expect her to move on from the past, but I do expect her to be more acceptant about it—treat me like how she did before all of it went down… or at least close to it.

I’m standing on the balcony outside my bedroom, watching the nightlife. It’s somewhat serene, and while I’m not as calm as I was in San Diego, with all the tension swirling in my house, I’m close.

My phone rings in my back pocket and I pull it out, sighing when I see the name on the screen. Jesus. Why can’t this fucker just leave me alone?

Around one in the afternoon the next day, after being bombarded with back-to-back phone calls last night, I’m sitting at a table in DiLido Beach Club on Collins Avenue.

I would be enjoying the scenery, the blue ocean water and people riding jet skis or parasailing, but there is someone in the way of my perfect view.

My fucking father-in-law.

His toupee flaps with the wind, and I have the hardest time trying to conceal my amusement, but I make do. It becomes sort of unnoticeable after a while.

The waitress sets our scotches on the table and Mr. Jenkins immediately reaches for his, shooing the waitress away after she sits the appetizer on the table.

“So why didn’t Coley come with you today?”

I sit back in my chair, picking up my drink. He calls her that like he’s so close to her, but if he was he’d know she hates that name now. She left it in the past, along with her sweet, kind heart.

“She said she had some work to finish.”

“Work?” He scoffs and then lets out a belly-deep chuckle. “She calls sitting in a room painting fucking cats, cities, and, people work?” His upstate accent is thick and gravelly.

I press my lips, looking away.

I hate when he talks about her that way. Don’t get me wrong, I can’t stand Colette sometimes, but I don’t think I could ever discredit her for something she truly enjoys.

Art, I can say, she is very passionate about. She always has been and I’m glad she didn’t let that go after what happened.

Watching her draw, paint, and sculpt with her hands was part of the reason I fell so in love with her ten years ago.

Her gifts, paintings of us, were things I cherished. Now, unfortunately, I don’t get that anymore. His ignorance towards her was the very reason I found her alone on the ferry in New York that day.

“Anyway, tell her to call me when you see her, will you? Tired of playing cats and dogs, chasing after my own daughter just so her mother will be happy to finally hear from her.” He adjusts in his seat, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead and upper lip from the Miami heat.

“I will.”

“Oh.” He sits forward, placing his glass down on the table. He digs into his back pocket and pulls out a folded sheet of gray paper. When he sets it on the table, smoothing it out, I realize it’s a ripped out newspaper article.

Pointing a chubby finger at it, he says, “I heard Boyd Enterprises settled a great deal with Quarter Banking.” He grins, that same shit-eating grin he revealed years ago when he realized how great I was with numbers.

“Yes, sir,” I murmur, quite proud of my accomplishment.

“And everything is all settled. No holes in the contracts? No need to worry about them trying to bring a lawyer into this?”

“No, sir. An associate of mine is actually good at the contracts and negotiation part, probably a little better than I am. Remember Stratford and Clark?”

“No. But what about them?”

“Well, they assisted me in winning Quarter over.”

He rolls his eyes, slumping back in his chair, his greasy forehead shining. “Ah, what the hell do you need associates for, Griff? You’re good at this stuff, right? It’s what I put you on for!”

“Yes, sir, you are right, but these associates are smart. They are careful and they always think twice.” I’m only speaking of Angelina and I heat up inside when I realize how much credit I’m giving her. “I checked them out. I wouldn’t work with people I don’t trust. Besides,” I shrug, “they came to me. They’re the reason I found out about Quarter. We agreed on a percentage and a few terms—me being in charge and handling the negotiations—and since then I’ve had no problems.”

“Yeah, yeah. As long as I don’t see a change in the income. I don’t want any bullshit with my money, Griffin. You understand?”

I stare him right in the eyes, the same green irises that remind me of Colette’s, only his are a bit livelier than hers. It’s strange that they would be considering he’s a money-hungry bastard that only cares about himself, but for some reason they are. “I understand.”

“Good, now,” he rasps, pulling out a black case from the jacket of his suit and whipping out a cigar, “You need to start planning the fall banquet. Invite the big people, the sharks, you know. The ones that are on top, just like us. The people that won’t mind tossing a couple thousand here and there after having one too many drinks. Lots of champagne, lots of scotch and whiskey, unlimited drinks. That’s how you do it. That’s how you win over the big investors.”

“I have Kelly getting that list together now.” It’s dirty what he does. Getting people drunk just to swallow their money. It’s disgusting.

“Kelly,” he laughs. “Kelly the man. And not only that, the faggot! Christ, Colette is ridiculous. How she even came from the pit of my sack still confuses the fuck out of me. She could at least give the man of the house what he wants. Nothing wrong with a little eye candy, am I right?” He cocks a bushy eyebrow, chuckling, with smoke potent in his voice. I’m not going to respond to that question. He’s the type of asshole to use it against me one day. “I’m telling you, I don’t know how the hell I could make it through a day’s work without Big Tit Tatiana as my assistant. That woman’s body is gold.” He grunts, placing his cigar between his fingers. “Wish my wife could have kept up like she does. Whatever you do,” he says, head shaking, “don’t let Colette start losing track of herself. Cause then you will regret it—not having a wife that you can actually enjoy looking at naked, I mean.”

I hold back on rolling my eyes, averting them to my left. “Colette works out so much that I worry she’ll get too skinny.”

I glance at him and his face turns board straight as he lowers his cigar. “She’s back at that again?”

“She’s fine for now.” I sit my glass down. “She keeps blaming it on getting ready for her competition, but to me she’s pushing herself too hard.”

“Well, stay on her. I don’t need to be flying to Miami just because she passes out from starving her damn self. There’s too much to be done and, besides, that’s your job, right?” His eyes focus on mine, a rare draft of seriousness washing over him. “She is your responsibility and you do whatever it takes to keep her happy. Whatever. It. Takes.”

I match his stare. “With all due respect, sir, I have always done whatever it takes.”

He looks me over briefly before pointing his gaze to the bar. “Colette has her issues, yes. You both do. But if you want to keep what you have and make it stick, you don’t fuck up.”

“You don’t have to remind me,” I mumble.

“Don’t forget why you are where you are, Griffin. Don’t forget that if you fuck up—if Colette fucks up or spirals—you will lose it all. I can’t afford losing anything when it comes to my business. In this business, we all look perfect or greater, especially if you are a part of the Jenkins’ world. You want to keep paying those bills for your family? You want to keep being on top? Then you do right by Colette and especially me. Don’t let her get crazy. We both know there won’t be a bright side if either of you do something you know you shouldn’t have.”