Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
He hesitates and looks away. “I don’t know.”
I laugh once, sharply, totally mystified. “Seriously? You don’t know? That’s your answer? You’re unreal.”
“Would you believe me if I said it’s because I love you and you’re my daughter and I want what’s best for me?”
“Nope, not at all.”
He glares and waves a hand. “Then I don’t know. What do you care? All that matters is I know where Baptist’s living and I think you should go talk to him. If not for you, then for that damn baby.”
I touch my abdomen and feel a cold chill. There’s a part of me that wants to beg him for Baptist’s address—a sick, stupid, insane part of me that would fall on my knees just to hear Baptist’s voice again.
And another part that’s too proud and way too fucking angry to bother.
Besides, is this my father’s way of being nice to me? Is this his way of checking on the welfare of his daughter and his future grandchild? If so, it’s just about the worst method available.
“You know, Dad, all my life I’ve been trying to make you proud of me.” I move closer, dropping my voice as more people begin to leave their offices, the stampede beginning. They drift around us like we’re stones in a fast-moving stream.
“That’s patently untrue. All I’ve ever seen is a willful, angry young woman that went out of her way to do everything wrong.”
I laugh once, shaking my head. “Then you’re blind. I’ve always wanted to make you happy and I tried so damn hard, but it was never good enough. And now you show up saying I should go talk to Baptist because you suddenly care about me? You have an ulterior motive. You always do.”
He takes a slow, deep breath, and lets it out again. “I understand why you feel that way. I haven’t always been easy to deal with. But in this instance, perhaps for the first time ever, I have no other reason to be here. Other than to tell you that Tony Cowan is a massive piece of shit that did all this garbage on purpose, and you shouldn’t let that lowlife psychopath get in the way of you and Baptist.”
I blink slowly, processing. “You know about what happened with Cowan?”
“Not many people do, if that makes you feel better, but I tracked down his former assistant and got the story.”
“You met his assistant? We thought he was fake.”
“He’s not, and he loves very expensive food.” Dad wipes a hand down his face. “Blair, Cowan dragged you through hell for revenge. For some silly, petty, pathetic insult Cowan’s been holding on to for all these years.”
“I know that,” I say, tugging at my hair. “That’s what Cowan told Baptist anyway. But he told me something else, that he did everything for some movie.”
Dad laughs bitterly. “That’s true too. Apparently, for the last ten or so years, Cowan’s been going around settling old scores and filming the whole experience as part of some master artwork he plans to release one day. He already moved on to another target.”
“You have to be joking.”
“I wish I was. The assistant confirmed it all.”
“God, that man is sick.”
“That’s what I’m trying to make you see. As bad as I am, Cowan is ten times worse. I did warn you.”
“Oh, shut up.” I turn away from my father, shaking with rage. Cowan told both of us the truth, but only half the story to each. He really was filming everything we went through, and he really was doing it all for revenge. That monstrous piece of shit could’ve hurt me, hurt my baby, and now I want to break his stupid skull open.
I should’ve let Baptist beat him to death back in the hotel room.
“Don’t let Cowan win, Blair. As much as I don’t love that you’re pregnant by your business partner, don’t let Tony Cowan be the reason the two of you aren’t speaking. Baptist maybe isn’t my type of guy, and maybe I think you can do better, and frankly, you’ve made a bunch of terrible decisions lately—”
“Dad,” I snap, turning around, hands balling into fists.
“Right,” he says, looking almost apologetic. “What I’m trying to say is, fuck Tony Cowan. Do you want to know where Baptist is or not?”
I stare at my father and try to make sense of all this.
Cowan used me. He used Baptist. He put us through hell for some childish revenge fantasy, and he got it all on film—which he plans on using as part of his alleged masterpiece.
And he’s doing it to someone else as we speak.
Meanwhile, Baptist is in hiding, and I’m still pregnant, and all this nightmarish insanity stems from one old director’s bitter anger toward the world. I can’t imagine having the energy for that much hate, but here we are.