Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I’m buzzing with too much adrenaline, and as we stand in the middle of his office, three feet apart, I clench my hands. “I don’t think you understand. This ends now. If you ever want to see me again, you’ll back the fuck off and leave Ash alone. Do you understand me?”
“Don’t be melodramatic, Sadie.”
“I mean it. If I have to, I’ll move and change my number. I’ll do whatever it takes to get this through your thick head. This is my life, and you are no longer part of it.” Certain he’s not grasping the gravity of what I’m saying, I close the space between us and straighten my spine. And though I have to crane my neck to look him in the eye, I don’t dare back down, no matter how much I’m shaking on the inside, quivering like the recalcitrant child he’s made me feel like for years. “From this day forward, seeing and talking to me is a privilege you’ll have to earn back.”
For the first time ever, my father is struck silent. His stillness is downright scary, the energy of his overbearing nature slithering under the surface, tainting the air.
I suck in a deep breath anyway. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but you wouldn’t back off.”
“Because I want what’s best for you.”
“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. I decide who to marry, where to work, and who to love. I’m not a child anymore.” I’m getting caught up in trying to reason with a man who’s head is as thick as sludge. Nothing I say will get through, so I’m not sure why I bother trying.
Except he’s my father, and I hate the thought of walking out of his life to get him to wake the fuck up.
His jaw is set, the square shape of it unrelenting. The word stubborn is synonymous with my father, and his deep brown eyes are resolute with it as he moves past me to claim his throne behind the desk. “I won’t condone a relationship with Ashton. I’ve humored your friendship with the Levine twins long enough as it is.”
“What do you have against them?”
“They’re not cut from the same cloth as us. I not only expect better for you, I demand it.”
“You’re a snob.”
“Call me what you will, Sadie, but it’s my job to ensure your future. If you walk out that door, I’ll be forced to rescind your trust fund.”
“I don’t need your money.” Sadness drenches my soul, coils around my heart, squeezes the breath from my lungs. I swallow hard to get my voice to work. “And if your behavior is that of a father, then I don’t need one of those anymore either.”
His lips move, but I turn a deaf ear to his protests as I barge out of his office. Only after the doors of the elevator enclose me inside do I exhale in relief. Heading downward, I spiral into a sense of despair and disbelief. I can’t believe I just spoke to my father like that. Not only the assertiveness, but the harsh words.
And I meant every one of them.
I vow to follow through even though my throat burns from hurt. Even though my eyes are on the cusp of purging it. Empowerment rises inside me, and I wrap it around myself and use it as a blanketing shield.
Still, my heart throbs with regret, and it isn’t long before the guilt penetrates. I’m halfway to my apartment when it strikes because my mother might be innocent in this latest scheme, and I don’t want to alienate her. At the very least, I need to explain my side of things before she hears it from him. I pull over, shift the car into park, and grab my cell.
The events of the morning roar in my mind, keeping pace with the speeding cars on the highway. A full minute sneaks by before I find the courage to put the call through. She answers immediately, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing.
Was she on the other line with Dad?
“Hey, sweetie.”
“Hi, Mom.” I detect movement on her end. “You sound busy.”
“I’m in the middle of planning a fundraiser, but I could use a break.” She pauses, and I make out the shuffle of papers. “Is everything okay at work?”
She doesn’t know—about this morning or the fact that I quit my job last week.
“I’m surprised Dad didn’t tell you.”
“Tell me what?” More papers. More movement. “Wait! Did you work things out with Jake? Maybe we’ll have that Christmas wedding after all.”
She’s just as oblivious as ever, content in her sheltered world of organizing events that further Dad’s career, cleaning his house, and looking pretty on his arm when required. Instead of feeling angry, I’m just sad. This is all she knows—all she’s ever known.