Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Which thankfully he does after only a few rings.
“Reign? Are you all right?” my brother asks in a groggy voice
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Yes, everything’s fine.”
“It’s three o’clock in the morning,” he says as I hear the rustling of sheets in the background. “What’s —”
“I’ll do it.”
Silence.
Complete and utter.
Which means he understood what I meant.
He understood that I’ll work for him in exchange for getting my money.
“You’ll do it,” he says in a quiet voice.
“Yes.”
“Until your graduation next year.”
I work my jaw back and forth, hating that it’s come to this.
Hating that I’m letting my brother win.
But it’s fine.
It’s nothing compared to what I deserve.
“Yes.” Then, the main reason for why I’m calling. “But I want you to do something for me first.”
Another few seconds of silence before he says, “What?”
“If I come work for you, I want you to give it to the Adlers. My money.”
This time, the silence is even longer.
And I know his wheels must be turning at my request. Not that I care.
As long as he keeps his promise, I don’t care what he thinks.
“The Adlers.”
“Yeah.” I swallow thickly. “Dress it up however you like. Tell ’em you’re doing it to make up for what happened. What our old man did to them. How he…” Sent her away, had her locked up to pursue his twisted revenge on me. “And then I want you to make some phone calls.”
“What phone calls?”
“To NYU.”
“NYU,” he murmurs, thoughtfully.
“I want you to get her in,” I say, knowing and hating that he already knows.
Who her is.
“How am I supposed to get her in?”
“I don’t fucking care. Find a way. You’re full of fucking connections, aren’t you? Find one at NYU and make it happen.”
I hear a sigh before he asks, “Is this important to you?”
I clutch the phone tightly. “Do you think I’d be calling you if it wasn’t?”
“I suppose not.”
“You’re going to do this or what?”
“If I do, then what’s the guarantee that you’ll still stay? Until next year.”
“There isn’t. But that’s what it’s gonna take for me to come work for you.”
I expected another thoughtful silence but he’s prompt in coming back with, “Fine. I’ll do it.” I’m releasing a breath of relief when he continues, “But not with your trust fund.”
“What?”
“That money is yours. I can —”
“No,” I growl. “It has to be my trust fund. It has to be my money. The money that belongs to me. You’re gonna give them that money. You’re gonna tell them that you’re feeling generous and that they should use this money for NYU. That they should use it for… her. My money.”
It has to be mine.
I don’t know why this is so important to me.
Why I want her future to be paved by something that comes from me, but it is.
I will pay for her education, her dreams, and no one else.
Me.
“Okay,” my brother says, after a few seconds. “Your money.”
“Good.”
“And I’ll make some phone calls in the morning. See what I can do to get her in.”
For the first time tonight, I feel like I’m able to breathe then.
No, it doesn’t change the past and what I did.
But maybe this might fix a few broken things.
This might bring her some… happiness. Ease her heartbreak a little.
“So Monday then?” my brother asks when I stay silent.
I sigh. “Yes.”
“Nine o’clock. Sharp.”
If he thinks that just because he’s doing me a favor, I’ll become his bitch, then he has another think coming.
“Nine-thirty,” I counter.
“Nine-fifteen.”
“Fine.”
“Wear a suit,” he tells me then.
“Over your dead body.” Then, “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll wear a suit at your funeral.”
He ignores me. “A shirt then. Not a t-shirt.”
“Don’t try to change me, big brother.”
“And dress shoes.”
“Many have tried and failed.”
He keeps ignoring me. “With socks.”
“Jesus.” I frown. “What kind of people you hanging with that don’t wear socks with shoes?”
“People with smelly feet apparently.”
My lips twitch. “Fine. I’ll wear socks and a shirt. No dress pants though. My boys need room to breathe.”
“Well if mine can, you can rest assured that yours can too. But you can keep your jeans if you like,” a pause, then, “little brother.”
A surprise laugh bursts out of me. “Did you just crack a joke? A dirty joke?”
I swear I can feel his amusement, his small smile even, through the phone. Then, “I’ll see you Monday. And Reign,” he sighs before adding, “you won’t regret this.”
And then, he’s gone.
Good thing too because I came this close.
To tell him that he will.
He will regret this.
Because he was right. There’s no guarantee that if he does all these things for me, I’ll stay until next year. And I won’t. I have no intention of staying.
I have every intention of going back on my word.
Because I’m going to leave.
After I’ve fixed things.
After I’ve brought Lucas back from the edge of destruction and after I’ve put her where she belongs — with him — I’m going to take off.