Chapter 1: Daddy Issues and Sushi Wishes

After my dad hit it big with his company, he got way too cocky and tried to set me up with a guy six years older than me. I flat-out refused. So, I ran away from home.

He swore he’d freeze all my cards and that I’d be crawling back within three days. Joke’s on him—it’s already been a week and I’m still standing. This round? Dad loses.

I’d packed every last designer bag and watch before I bailed. And just to prove I could handle life solo, I scored a job at a publicly traded company, pulling in three grand a month.

A week passed, and Dad started to panic first. He tried to add me on Facebook again—this time as “Camellia.” I left him hanging for a whole day, then decided to throw him a bone. Scrolling his feed, I saw he’d just gone to Aspen. Typical. He’s out living it up in Colorado while his only daughter scrapes by in New York.

So I shamelessly messaged him: “Daddy 😘 Next time you go on a business trip, can I tag along?”

Still nothing. I scrolled through my sticker pack, hunting for the most pathetic kitten I could find. If this didn’t work, nothing would. Sent him: “The little kitty has no money for food.”

Camellia: “…….”

I rolled my eyes—guess he was still sulking. But I wasn’t backing down: “Wire me a hundred grand or I’m changing your contact to ‘Just Some Guy.’”

The designer stuff I posted on eBay was so expensive, no one believed it was real—even after I slashed prices. The hotel was charging by the day now. Daddy, you really want your precious daughter sleeping under a bridge?

Camellia ghosted me all morning. After lunch, I tried again: “Daddy, your little girl is broke again 🥺.”

Finally, right before quitting time, he Zelle’d me a hundred grand.

I replied instantly: “Daddy is the best!”

I almost bounced out of my chair. Fancy sushi for dinner, here I come!

The hum of the air conditioning mingled with the faint scent of burnt coffee from the break room as I stood up to leave. Just as I grabbed my bag, my team leader called out.

“Rachel, everyone else is still working.”

I looked around. “Oh, then I’ll just go first.”

He looked at me, disappointed, and said under his breath, “If you walk out now, you might as well clean out your desk.”

I raised my voice: “I’m making three grand a month and you still want me to work overtime?”

The office went dead silent, my words echoing off the glass partitions. I just wanted my sushi, is that so much to ask?

With a click, the CEO’s office door swung open.

The sound was sharp against the hush, echoing off the glass partitions and sterile carpet. Heads turned, necks craned over monitors. I could practically feel the collective intake of breath, like the audience at a talent show waiting for the next big act. My palms itched, but my stomach was still set on a spicy tuna roll.