Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I don't give her a chance to make an excuse. I don't give her the opportunity to tell me that it's fine that she’d like to continue talking to me. I don't have time.
I saw the look in my father's eyes and knew exactly what it meant.
Jackson Smith is my focus tonight. Jackson Smith's parents are rich, so wealthy, it’s beyond comprehension of many people.
His family is a prime donor for my father's political campaign, and despite having millions of dollars in donations already, there's no such thing as too much money.
I cross the room, full glass of champagne in hand, smiling and nodding as I pass others in attendance. I get stopped several times before I can close the distance between myself and my parents.
Jackson, whom I recognize from pictures online, smiles as I approach, but I won't make the same mistake I've made in the past of thinking that he's a kindred spirit. His smile is just as fake as the one I give him, just as fake as the one I’ve given to every person here tonight.
He may not want to be here.
He may not want to meet me.
He may be in the same situation with his parents that I'm in with my own parents, but that doesn't make him my friend.
It doesn't make him an ally in life.
Jackson's a man, one I know for a fact who has political aspirations of his own from online research.
I've learned through experience that men in the political world will step on anyone to see their goals realized.
As much as my father is using him and his family's money for political gain, this connection is a benefit to Jackson as well.
Jackson will use the connection with my father and his campaign to advance his own career. I have no doubt about that.
“Jackson,” my father says, angling a hand in my direction as I approach. “Have you met my beautiful daughter, Raya?”
Jackson reaches for my free hand, and as I've been trained, I hold it out for him in greeting.
The kiss he presses on the back of my hand should make me cringe. It should make me pull away from him. It should make me want to slap him in the face.
But it's customary. It's habit. It's expected.
I won't start a long tirade about how disgusting I find it, that upon meeting someone for the first time, it's okay for them to press their lips to a woman's skin.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Jackson says as he pulls his head up to look at me, his fingers still clasped in mine. “I'm honestly surprised this is the first time we've met.”
“Is that right?” I ask, playing coy as my father expects.
“It's my understanding that we run in the same circles.”
I don't have a circle. The people I associate with are usually at parties like the one I'm attending tonight. I don't have girlfriends that I call when I have good news. I don't have close relatives with shoulders to cry on when I'm upset.
I have events.
I have my schedule.
I have my expectations, and that's it.
“Jackson just got back from an overseas trip,” my mother interjects. “He probably has jet lag because he just flew in tonight.”
“Just in time to meet you,” Jackson says, his eyes glimmering under the chandeliers in the room.
Laying it on there a little thick, buddy.
“We’ll let you guys get to know each other better,” Mother says as she pats our joined hands.
It’s a sign of approval, and I have no doubt that it garnered the attention of others in the room. Everything is strategic, and tonight is no exception.
Within seconds, my parents disappear, walking a few feet away to greet another couple.
Jackson doesn't release my hand. Rather than sighing and leaning in conspiratorially to voice his opinion about these types of events, he looks down at me with the same fake-ass smile in place.
“How about we go somewhere a little more private so we can get to know each other better?”
Knowing I'm safe, knowing I don't have to worry about his intentions because of who his parents are, I allow him to escort me out of the room.
A real smile takes over my face when I realize his intentions. I love the beach. I'm excited every time the campaign brings me within even thirty minutes of the water. But the salty air wrapping itself around my skin doesn't hold the same appeal as it did earlier today.
Right now, the scent of salt is masked in the air by the putrid smells of sea life left behind after high tide.
It's not unusual for me to walk someplace in private with a guy. I’m not wearing a chastity belt or anything, so I don’t feel like I’m doing anything wrong, but it doesn’t keep my stomach from turning. I don’t want to be here with him. I don’t want him to somehow manage to ruin the joy I feel while at the ocean.