She hugged him back and sighed, scooting a folder toward her. "Thanks, sweetie. I hope so."
Daphne chose that moment to stick her head in and gave Isabella a sympathetic smile. "Your father's on line one, dear."
Isabella had to stand and scoot the phone on her desk toward her instead of just reaching out as she'd always had to do, and that annoyed her so much that when she hit the speaker phone and her father's satisfied-sounding baritone filled the air in his greeting, she snapped immediately.
"I don't know who you think you are or what you're doing, but I want my desk, my tables and my chairs back this instant."
The other line was silent or a moment as Robert was obviously stunned at being spoken in such a way. "You don't like it?" he asked, sounding offended.
"No, I don't," Isabella said. "The desk is so huge there's barely enough room in the office for me and this filing cabinet, which, by the way, is going to take me the rest of the day to put to rights. Do you know that whoever you had do this messed up my files entirely? And not only that, they shoved loads of them in bags and hid them under this desk! There is personal information in there, Robert. Bank accounts. What am I to tell my clients if one of your goons steals from them? I can't believe you'd compromise my business this way."
"Now young lady," he said in an authoritative tone, "If you don't like the desk that's fine, but I won't have you calling my judgement into question. I have pictures of your office. The stuff you had before looked downright unprofessional. I had your business in mind entirely when I picked those things out, and my boys wouldn't dare steal from you. They know who you are."
"Do they?" Isabella snapped back, uncaring that Del and Daphne were hearing all of this. "Or do they know that I'm the daughter that you disowned and care nothing for? Makes me think they wouldn't hesitate to steal from me since they know I don't matter to you anyway. I didn't ask for your fucking desk, your liquor, or your goddamn cabinet. Bring me my stuff back and feel lucky that I don't get the police on the phone right now and report this as a breaking and entering." She'd never talked to her father that way, even after they'd had their fight. She blamed her bravery on the liquor and a little bit on the audacity that she had to have inherited from him.
"Fine," he said in a clipped tone, voice gone cold. "Forgive me for taking an interest. Your items will be returned to you in pristine condition as soon as my boys can get them tracked down and loaded."
"Thank you," she said in a matching tone, then hung up the phone and sat back, sagging into the chair. "Shit," she muttered, dabbing at her eyes and taking another bite of cupcake.