Cindi Myers - Good, Bad...Better

“Didn’t shock the old man enough yet, huh?”

She sat up straighter, her cheeks flushed. Bingo. He’d read her right, then. “I’ll admit, I want my father to see me differently. But I’m doing this for me, too. Moving to Chicago is a chance for me to start over, with a new image. Reinvent myself.”

“I thought your old man wasn’t going to let you go to Chicago.”

“He’s still against it, but I’m going to change his mind.”

She sounded so determined. But Zach wouldn’t have bet against Grant Truitt. “Why not just go, and the hell with what daddy says?”

“Yeah, why not do that?” the kid chimed in.

She frowned. “Because he’s promised if I do, he’ll contact some influential friends who owe him favors and they’ll put pressure on the dance company to kick me out.”

“He’d really do that?” the customer asked. But Zach already knew the answer to that question. Grant Truitt did whatever he damn well pleased. Before the “Clean Up Sixth Street” hoopla had died down, he’d been a frequent figure on the local news, pledging to rid Austin of “less desirable” elements. If the mayor hadn’t turned his attention to the more pressing issues of budget shortfalls and his chief aide’s involvement in a minor scandal, Chief Truitt and his minions would probably still be frequent, unwelcome visitors to the neighborhood.

“My father wouldn’t see anything wrong with forcing me to stay in Austin, because he’d see it as ‘protecting’ me,” Jen explained to the kid.

“So what makes you think you can do anything to change his mind?” Zach asked.

She sat back and smoothed her hands along the arms of the chair. She had nice hands, with graceful fingers and neatly trimmed nails painted a shell pink. He wondered what those hands would feel like on him. Would she be tentative? Or more assured?

“I don’t know what I’m going to do just yet, but I’ll think of something. The important thing is that, from now on, I’m going to live my life the way I want to live it, and stop worrying so much about what he or anybody else thinks.”

“Your old man sounds like a real prick.” The kid came out of his lust-crazed stupor long enough to comment.

Zach agreed, but it didn’t seem the thing to tell a woman her father was a prick, even if he was.

“He just…gets ideas in his head and won’t let them go.” She shrugged. “I think he still sees me stuck as a ten-year-old, needing Daddy to look after me. It would be sweet if it weren’t so annoying.”

Zach thought there was nothing sweet about her father, but that was probably a matter of perspective. “I don’t see how you think my sister’s going to help you.”

She smiled again and her eyes met his, the look of determination in them was stunning in its intensity. “She looks like a woman of the world. I figure maybe she can give me some tips.”

Tips about what? he wondered. Then again, maybe he didn’t really want to know what this woman was up to.

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