Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
He arches an eyebrow but settles for snorting. He wants to be a servant? I should start treating him like one.
That’s why I don’t bother getting a cart or a basket when we enter the store. I pull out my class list and go through the rows one by one, picking up books. Some of the class materials are totally digital, but there are a couple of thick texts required by other instructors. “Here you go.” I drop what has to be at least a thousand pages into his waiting arms. There are a couple of girls at the end of the row who, of course, can’t help but stare at him. I shoot them a look, and they turn away, whispering to each other.
Once again, the idea of him hooking up with somebody while we’re here makes my stomach churn. When I glance his way from the corner of my eye, I can tell he noticed them. Is he trying to fight off a grin? He’s so snide, so full of himself. “Here.” I drop another book in his arms, then move on to my last class. “Hurry up.”
“Drop the act,” he mutters, following close behind.
“What act? You’re the one who announced yourself to everybody two nights ago. You want to strut around like you own me?” I smirk at him over my shoulder. “Then I’m going to let everybody know why you’re really here.”
“I’m not your servant.”
“No, you’re my father’s servant. Keep that in mind, or else I might have to tell him you’re flirting with girls while you’re here.”
“You think that was flirting?” His nasty laughter rings out. “You have no idea.”
“I do know a few things.” I find the last of my textbooks and drop it on the pile he’s carrying. “I guess that’s it. Let’s get out of here. I could use a cup of coffee.” There’s a coffee shop next to the bookstore, so we head there after I use my student ID to put my textbooks on the account Dad set up for me.
“And can I get you anything?” The girl behind the counter is all smiles when she sets eyes on Zeke, standing next to me with my books in a bag. I have to bite my tongue before the impulse to tell her he doesn’t matter becomes too much to fight. I can’t help it. He needs to be put in his place. But I know that would only make me look petty and childish, and I don’t want to get that reputation around here. It’s not a very big school, and I’m sure people talk.
“I’m good.” It’s barely a grunt, and I have to press my lips together tight to keep from reacting to how surprised the girl is. I guess she expected him to be friendly. Sorry to burst her bubble, but he’s the opposite.
I pull out my bank card and hand it over after placing my order, then look around the store. It’s cute, with funky music coming from the speakers and a relaxed vibe. I could see myself hanging out here, but only if I didn’t have a chaperone. Why does he have to make everything difficult?
The girl clears her throat, and I turn my attention back to her. “Um, it’s not working.” She tries to smile, but it comes off as more like a grimace.
“My card? It should be okay. It’s practically new. The bank just sent it.”
“Let me try it again.” She swipes it, then frowns at her screen. “Yeah, I’m sorry. It’s saying to call the bank.”
I know I didn’t do anything wrong, and there’s plenty of money in my account. But this kind of situation leaves a person feeling like a deer in headlights no matter what. There are people all around us, and I can feel their eyes on me. They know I’m a fake. I’m not one of them. A flush creeps up my neck, and I feel sweaty all of a sudden. “Let me call my dad. Maybe he put a hold on it or something.” I step out of line and take my phone from my bag with shaking hands. I don’t even know if Zeke follows, and I don’t care.
Once I’m outside, I call my father. He picks up on the first ring. “What’s wrong?” He always sounds like there’s some kind of catastrophe going on.
“Uh, hi, Dad. I just tried to get a coffee with my bank card, and they told me there’s a problem. I just used that card to pay for makeup online a few days ago. I swear, there was money in the account. I didn’t overdraw on it.”
I expect him to get upset or to promise some idiot bank teller will lose their job over it. But all he does is make an understanding sound. “There’s plenty of money in your account, sweetheart. But your card isn’t going to work.”