The "Stylist" | Book I in a Series of Mistaken Identities

MELONS OR STEMS

Valerie

My hand drifts up to touch my cheek as I watch Charlie leave. That kiss was just too sweet. I half expected him to kiss me while we were dancing, but I spent enough time in Japan to know P.D.A.'s between nonmarried people is a big no-no. Maybe he's not a playboy after all.

"Dad," I look at my father.

My father looks down at me with that stern look that breaks enemies in the boardroom but only succeeds in making me chortle. "I'm sorry, who? I thought it was Arty. You're playing games again," his disapproving tone says it all.

I'm not sure what made me say it, but something about all the changes going on in my life makes me want to keep that ball rolling. It's time to try and mend this crack.

"Dad, can we go somewhere and talk?" My father's stern face softens.

"Come on then, Valerie Banks," he spits out my name as if I had just stabbed him in the heart.

Valerie is my middle name, and Banks is my mother's maiden name. It's a blow to his ego that I'm not using his name to get ahead in whatever nonsense he thinks I'm doing out here. All intentional of course, it was one small jab I could make when all I wanted to do was hurt him.

I changed it after we fought about my leaving the company. I was meant to take over as CEO until I found out dear old Daddy was cheating on Mom, and I wanted nothing to do with him and his company. This hotel we're in right now, the one Charlie bought and renovated was coincidentally a building I wanted to buy as the first property of our New York portfolio. Dad fought me so hard on it and now look at it: gold mine.

We went to a nearby bar and decided to have the conversation we should have had years ago. Dad's been wanting to have it for a while, but it's always been me pushing him away. I was so hurt on Mom's behalf, yet she's still with him, and she won't tell me why. She just always says, "Ask your father" in an effort to get us talking again.

The moment my ass hits that stool I turn to face him, "So daddio, why did you cheat on Mom? And I want you to treat me like an adult, tell it to me straight, no bullshit."

"No bullshit?" He asks the same way we used to do back in the day to cut through the crap.

"No bullshit," I confirm.

"Your mother and I have been in an open relationship for the past five years." Wow. Okay. I wasn't expecting that.

For the first time in years, my father and I hashed it out like two adults. Turns out they didn't want to tell me or my brother about their relationship because it wasn't any of our business. Fair enough. Still, ew, gross.

"Why are you two still married?"

"Just because the sex fizzled doesn't mean we had to throw away years of true love. She's my boo," I feel my jaw hit the floor.

"Boo?! Where did you even hear that word?"

"Not important. Now, what's going on with you and that Knight boy? And don't say it's nothing because that kid clearly has it for you."

"I don't know." I sigh and look out the window trying to gather the pieces of my mind I have left after hearing that my old school, conservative parents are in an open relationship. Why didn't they just tell me sooner? Probably because it's none of my business.

"And what is it he thinks you do exactly?" I sense the humor in my dad's question.

"I am the assistant to Cindy Saunders, the greatest fashion stylist in all of New York. I'm thinking of expanding into personal shopping. I've just received an offer from a very wealthy, hot shot client," I lay it on thick.