Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
“Show me the emails.”
My request startles him. He furrows his brow. “What?”
“Show me the fucking emails, Jack.”
He flinches at my sharp tone. My harsh expletive.
“If you stand any chance of me understanding this, then I need to see the emails.”
“Okay. Okay.” He lets out a ragged breath and pulls his phone from his pocket.
As he hurriedly swipes a finger over the screen, silence once again fills the room. Even Hugh has decided not to intrude. There’s not a meow to be heard from our aggressively vocal feline. The cat lies in the center of my bed, giving Jack the shifty eyes.
Finally, Jack passes me the phone.
I swallow my nausea and read the first email in the thread.
It’s from Bly_Guy@gmail.com, my dad’s throwaway account, the one he gives acquaintances or uses to sign up for online newsletters. He introduces himself as “Abbey’s father” and, proving he wasn’t lying to me before, informs “Jackie” that this is the first time his daughter is traveling alone, and gee, it would really ease his mind if “you guys could watch out for my daughter.” Stick close to her for the first little while.
Then comes the embarrassing part. He says he “totally gets” how it might cramp their style or feel like a “chore,” so he’s happy to pay them for this arduous task. He’ll cover all their rent for the year, how does that sound? “Easy gig, right?”
Again, I’m a gig.
A fucking gig.
He signs it Mr. Bly. I don’t blame him for that. Fame isn’t always something one wants to advertise.
Particularly when you’re trying to hire a covert nanny for your hapless daughter.
But who’s bitter?
“Abbs,” Jack starts.
I silence him with a withering glare, then continue to scroll.
In his reply, J.Campbell@gmail.com is quick to assure my father that it’s no problem, of course Jackie will look out for Mr. Bly’s little girl.
Someone kill me now, please.
I exhale slowly and force myself to keep reading. Jack jokes that Lee and Jamie don’t need the extra cash; they’ve already paid their rent in full for the year. Trust him, Dad’s money is wasted on those two.
Dad responds that he’d still like to show his gratitude for Jackie’s kind assistance. What’s Jackie’s PayPal address? He’s going to cover Jackie’s rent for the year. “Not taking no for an answer!”
Jackie, my kind, amazing roommate, doesn’t put up a fight. “Mr. Bly, this is beyond generous.”
In that same email, Jack tells Dad he has a rugby match that night and won’t be able to respond to any emails until the following day.
Dad’s response is so absurd that hysteria-laced laughter bubbles out of my mouth.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter to Jack before reading aloud. “‘Wow, it’s so impressive you play rugby! Such a rough sport. And female rugby players? They’re an especially tough breed.’” I stare at Jack in disbelief. “And in your reply, you just agree that female rugby players are hard-core!”
“I thought he meant in general. I didn’t realize he thought I was the female rugby player,” Jack sighs.
Oh my God. These two dumbasses.
It would almost be funny if not for the fact that they were corresponding behind my back. Treating me like a child who needed help tying her shoelaces. Like a sheltered little girl who couldn’t be trusted to live her own life.
Anger ricochets through me as I remember Jack’s behavior in those early weeks. All those times I thought he was being sweet and protective. Worrying when I was out for hours in Surrey. Taking me driving because he didn’t trust Jamie to do it. Protecting me from his friend Sam and Nate and Ben Tulley.
He didn’t care about me. He only cared about giving my father his money’s worth.
The burn of betrayal sears my throat, throbbing with the lump of emotion already jammed in there.
“I can’t believe you took his money,” I choke out, and now I’m crying again, my cheeks soaked with tears. I am a child. A fucking fool.
“I didn’t know you,” he says, a desperate note creeping into his voice. “And I don’t come from wealth like the rest of you. I wasn’t kidding about Lee and Jamie paying their rent in full for the year. Meanwhile I’m taking my mother’s money when she can barely afford her own mortgage. I saw an easy opportunity and I took it.”
I blink rapidly, trying to control my overflowing emotions. “I don’t even blame you for that, Jack. You’re right—I come from a place of privilege. I don’t know what it’s like to barely make ends meet. What I blame you for is keeping it a secret from me. You could have told me.”
He hangs his head in shame. “I didn’t know how to. I knew you’d be livid.”
“No shit.”
“At the beginning, it didn’t feel like a big deal. I just kept an eye on you. Made sure you didn’t get too sloshed at the pub, you weren’t partying too hard, that sort of stuff.”