Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
My phone buzzes in my canvas shoulder bag. I reach for it, finding a text from Bonnie asking if I want to meet for lunch. My roommate has the uncanny ability to read my mind, so I tell her I have to study, then find an empty bench in the quad and pull out my laptop.
I need a distraction, an escape from my chaotic thoughts. Making plans for the hotel provides that respite.
For the next few hours, I scour the internet for the resources I need to get started on this project. I make a list of contractors, contacting each one to request a site visit, so they can give me hard estimates about how much it’ll cost to get the building up to code. I research county ordinances and permit regulations. Watch a couple videos about commercial plumbing and electrical installations. Read up on the latest in hurricane-proof construction and pricing insurance policies.
It’s …a lot.
My mother calls as I’m sliding the laptop back in my bag and getting up to stretch my legs. Sitting on a wrought iron bench for three hours did a number on my muscles.
“Mom, hey,” I greet her.
Skipping the pleasantries, she gets right to the point. “Mackenzie, your father and I would like to take you and Preston to dinner this evening—how is seven o’clock?”
I clench my teeth. Their sense of entitlement is grating as hell. She’s acting as if I have a choice in the matter, when we both know that’s not the case.
“I don’t know if Preston is free,” I say tightly. I’ve been avoiding him for two days, ever since he shot down my dreams and told me I was irresponsible and immature.
The memory of his harsh, condescending words reignites my anger at him. No. No way am I bringing him to dinner tonight and risking a huge fight in front of my parents. I’ve already slapped one guy. Best to not make it two.
But my mother throws a wrench in that. “Your father already spoke to Preston. He said he’s happy to join us.”
My mouth falls open in shock. Seriously? They made arrangements with my boyfriend before calling me, their own daughter?
Mom gives me no time to object. “We’ll see you at seven, sweetheart.”
The moment she disconnects, I scramble to call Preston. He answers on the first ring.
“Hey, babe.”
Hey, babe? Is he for real right now? I’ve been ignoring his calls and texts since Saturday afternoon. On Sunday morning, when he threatened to show up at my dorm, I texted that I needed some space and would call him when I was ready.
And now he’s hey, babeing me?
Does he not realize how mad I am?
“I’m glad you finally called.” His audible remorse confirms he does recognize my unhappiness. “I know you’re still sore over our little spat, so I was trying to give you some space like you asked.”
“Really?” I say bitterly. “Is that why you agreed to have dinner with my parents without even consulting me?”
“Would you have picked up the phone if I called?” he counters.
Good point.
“Besides, I literally just hung up with your dad. You called before I had a chance to call you first.”
“Fine. Whatever. But I don’t want to go tonight, Preston. After what happened Saturday at the hotel, I really do need that space.”
“I know.” The note of regret in his voice sounds sincere. “I reacted poorly, I can’t deny that. But you have to understand—you threw me for a total loop. The last thing I expected was being told you’d gone and bought a hotel. It was a lot to take in, Mac.”
“I get that. But you spoke to me like I was a disobedient child. Do you even realize how humiliating—” I stop, drawing a calming breath. “No. I don’t want to rehash this right now. We do need to talk, but not now. And I can’t do dinner. I just can’t.”
There’s a brief pause.
“Mackenzie. We both know you’re not going to tell your parents you can’t go.”
Yeah.
He’s got me there.
“Pick me up at quarter to seven,” I mutter.
Back at Tally Hall, I steam a suitable dress my mom won’t side-eye and make myself presentable. I decide on a navy boatneck that’s just on the slutty side of modest. My silent protest against having my evening hijacked. As soon as Preston picks me up from my dorm, he suggests I put on a cardigan.
I sit in silence on the drive over to the fancy new steakhouse near campus. Preston is smart enough not to push me to talk.
At the restaurant, we’re given a private room, thanks to my dad’s assistant calling ahead. On the way in, Dad does his usual grip-and-grin with voters, then poses for a picture with the manager that’ll end up framed on the wall and run in the local paper tomorrow. Even dinner becomes a major affair when my father shows up, all because his ego isn’t content to anonymously eat out with his family. Meanwhile, my mother stands to the side, hands clasped politely in front of her, a plastic smile on her face. I can’t tell if she still loves this stuff or if the Botox means she feels nothing anymore.