Page 37 of Keep Vegas

I laugh.

TONY: Prove it.

MAK: It’s all in the wash. Another rain check.

TONY: You owe me a panty pic. Text me later.

I silence my phone so I can believe she’ll text me later then wave to my father’s assistant, who giggles.

I say, “How is it possible you smell that good all the time?”

“Oh, Tony. How are things at your building?”

“You know I don’t own it.”

I moved the Ladd Media Group across town about a year ago to get distance. I needed them to look to me not my father for leadership.

“Well, things are going really good over there but I miss seeing you here.” I’m more disconnected from him these days. I wink at her.

I fling open the door, and my mother is in his lap. “Ah, the parents. And I’m not scarred at all.” Their marriage is enviable, but I don’t need the details.

My mother laughs, kisses my father, and stands up, opening her arms. I pick her up and give her a big hug. Her ashy dyed-blonde, perfect hair bounces right back to the exact place she’s had it for decades. I’ve avoided this meeting, but he cornered me at Butter the other night. He knew I’d be there for steak on a Tuesday.

Mom puts her hand on my scruffy cheek, pinching a bit too hard.

My father stands and puts his hand out. “Really, Pop? A handshake?” He smiles and we do that hug with a manly backslap thing.

“Sit.”

A series of legal-looking bound folders are on the coffee table, and I sit on the brown leather couch behind them. His assistant arrives and places a perfect latte in front of me.

My mother sits in the pony chair opposite me, and my father takes the matching one off to the side. His office is decorated in a collection of vintage, reproduced, and knocked-off pieces that span decades. His black, glass desk is a holdover from the era that brought us Friends, mismatched dining sets, and birch cabinetry.

“This shit stops,” he says, as if I’m twelve and stealing extra cookies after dinner.

I cross my legs and sit back, draping my arm on the back of the couch. My mother winces as my father swears.

“So, I’ve heard.” I stare back at them.

“Honey, what happened with Laura? She was lovely, not like Nicola or—”

My father interrupts her, “If you want to remember their names, darling, perhaps just look at the corporate checkbook that pays these women every month out of Tony’s salary. It’s a miracle you have some left. No more.” They’re so melodramatic.

“Ever?” I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t you want grandkids? Legacies to take over your empire. Maybe one of my kids will have a head for figures like you. Or dimples like your lovely bride.” My mother puts her hand on her heart. She doesn’t have the stomach to punish us.

My father is pissed, and I’m baiting him. I want him to get to the point.

“Why don’t you let Dax take care of grandkids. You need to stop fucking getting married. It’s costing us a fortune and we’re losing face in the public. You’re making a mockery of the company and our business by looking like the cavalier idiot who marries and pays out on a whim. Who’s going to trust you with multibillion dollar investments if you can’t seem to stay in a relationship? Laura’s suing for more.”

I stand up quickly and point at him. “I may be a wicked serial monogamist, but I’ve always been fair in the breakup. If she wants to money grab let her try. There are no skeletons, nothing to negate the prenup. But quick disclosure, I kissed a woman in Vegas, but we were completely alone and I’m legally separated. I didn’t cheat or violate anything. And when does it matter who is in my bed when it comes to the bottom line of this company?”

I circle around the power desk because I need to move around. Their heads swivel to watch me. I don’t say anything else.

My father circles the room. He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Kissing a woman while you’re separated, not admirable, but you’re right, not a violation or cheating. Just don’t marry or date this one. Tell me it was a drunken hook-up.”

“Dad? Really?”

“Sweetie, we just think you need to be unattached.”