Cash (Sexy Bastard #2) by Eve Jagger Page A

go through the rest of your life hating
yourself for not fixing this stupid rift? Let it go, Cassius.”
    “Stupid? Mom, people lost
everything.”
    “And we did, too,” she
sniffs.
    I clench my jaw and try to remain calm.
“Last time I checked, your bank account was just fine.”
But my comment rolls right off her.
    “You’ve never known pain
until you’ve had someone you love walk out on you—and you
miss the chance to make up with them. Someday you might, but I hope
you never have to live with that regret. Talk to him before you miss
your chance. It’s time to put the past behind us.”
     I have half a mind just to keep walking and never look back.
That’s been my way of dealing with it since the beginning. Once
I realized what he was really like, I wanted to be nothing like my
father. Nothing like the man who lost millions of other people’s
money and then saved everything for himself. He ruined lives, and
what’s worse, he has no remorse.
    My mother opens the door, returning to
the room, and giving me a stern look that I remember well from my
childhood. It’s the look she gave me when I got into my first
fight. When I tried to quit baseball. When I wanted her to convince
Dad to give those people back what was rightfully theirs. It was a
look that said ‘do not disappoint me.’ Backing down is
not an option.
    My father doesn’t look up from
the paper when I sit in the chair beside his bed. He finishes going
over the stock reports before he gives me his attention. All these
years, and those reports are still more important to him than his
kids. Than anything or anyone else.
    “Cassius.”
    “It’s
just Cash, Dad.”
    “Ah. I see you’re still on
that kick . Pour me some
water.”
    I do, even though I’m gritting my
teeth the entire time. Mom looks on approvingly. “Yep, still on
that kick.” I pass him the plastic cup, and he drinks.
    Dad leans back and pauses.
    “And you’re still working
as a bartender?”
    Are we really having this argument
again? The muscles in my neck tighten. “Is there something
wrong with earning an honest wage?”
    “Just because something is honest
doesn’t mean you’re not meant for better things,”
he says disdainfully. “You were top of your class at school,
you have a good mind for business, and this fantasy you have about
being ‘of the people’ is a waste of your talents and
breeding.”
    His words disgust me, as usual.
    “You know, Dad, if you looked
beyond the fact that, yes, I am a bartender, you might realize that I
am also a business partner. I own not one, not two, but five
successful, well-regarded bars in Atlanta. They’re packed every
night, and at least it’s real work that I do with my own two
hands. Can’t say that for everyone in this room.”
    My father rubs his chest. Maybe this
heart attack finally reminded him where he could find his heart—no
matter how small and shriveled it might be.
    “Don’t you talk to me like
that. You have no idea what it’s like to take care of a
family.”
    “And what about the people who
had to take care of their families with nothing?”
    “Boys.” Mom cuts in, moving
toward us. Dad silences her with a look.
    “Enough of this, talking about
it—it’s aggravating my heart condition,” he
rattles.
    I can’t help it. I roll my eyes.
    “Don’t you roll your eyes
at me. Do you know how many nights your mother’s lost sleep
worrying about you? How many times I’ve had to tell her that if
something bad happened to you, we’d know? You can hate me, but
think about your mother. Do you even care about her?”
    It’s like a bad soap opera, only
I can’t change the channel. “Of course I care. But I
think we’re remembering the wrong mom. Do you remember how many
drinks she’d down at the club when I was a kid? Or the way
she’d pass me or Tasha off to someone else—nannies,
tutors, coaches? You only care about us when it’s convenient
for you.”
    “And I guess those monthly checks
from the