Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 127146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
I've lost this round, and if it keeps his gaze off Maybel, then I'll take whomever he wants me to take to his stupid little party. "Fine. Should I pick her up, or will I be meeting her there?"
The gloat on his face makes me want to punch him. "She'll arrive with her parents, and then you'll show her around the party and be the perfect gentleman, unless of course, she doesn’t want you to be a gentleman."
I want to ask him how he can be such a motherfucker. How he can pimp out his own son for business, but it's not an argument I can win yet, so I don't even bother.
"Fine. I'll wait for the suit to arrive. I’ll play my part as I always do."
Silence surrounds us for a moment, and I stare out the windows at the city beyond to keep from saying or doing something stupid. I can still feel his eyes on me, and I don't want to show him how much I hate his fucking guts. I have to wonder how I can hate my own father so much, but then I remember all he’s done to me—all the pain, embarrassment, the guilt and regret. It makes me question how a father could live with himself after doing all he’s done to me.
"Good. Don’t fuck this up, Drew. I’ve warned you before of the implications of disobeying me. Don’t make me do something that we both know I don’t want to do. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but every single thing I do is for your future, and I won’t have you ruining all the hard work I’ve put in.”
“I get it. No worries, Dad. I’ll play my part. Can I go now?” I grit my teeth, asking for permission to leave. I hate the lack of control I have when it comes to my father. He nods, and I stand, ready to get the fuck out of this office, this building, except my relief is short-lived when I reach the door and hear the loud clearing of his voice.
Instead of turning to look at him, I just wait to hear what he has to say.
"Oh, and get rid of that little white trash whore before the party, or I'll do it for you. There's no reason for you to keep seeing her when you're going to be dating my client's daughter. We can’t have rumors being started."
I grit my teeth, my jaw aching from the pressure. He never fucking said anything about dating this woman.
When he's done speaking, I head out. There's no reason to respond, not when I want to slam his head into the desk and pound out my frustration.
I don't bother keeping the scowl off my face as I walk to the elevator and down to the car. I walk right past the car and head uptown. I'll get an app ride back to campus. I don't want a goddamn thing from my father right now. Standing on my own means no life, no money, nothing. It means he'd actively work to destroy everything I've worked to build the last few years since I started at Oakmount.
I can't allow that. Not when his first target will be the only people I care about. My friends. My mother. Maybel.
I walk faster, using the burn of the cold air in my lungs to cool my boiling blood. If my father wants me to fuck this girl, fine, I’ll do it, but I’m doing it my way. This bitch has no idea what she's getting into or better yet, who she’s getting involved with.
CHAPTER 28
BEL
I shouldn't be as excited as I am to see Drew today. It's been a few days with the football game between, so I feel like it's been forever since I felt those penetrating dark eyes on me. A sensation I used to hate...but has grown on me now. Drew is smart. I'm not sure why his grades slipped, but it gives me a sense of accomplishment when he shares the news that he aced a test.
I shove some books into my bag and then eye the lip gloss on my desk. I don’t know why, but it occurs to me to put myself together, to do my hair or makeup. Not that it'll dress up my hoodie, messy bun, or worn jeans. With an eye roll at myself for being stupid, I grab the ChapStick off the corner of my desk and swipe that on instead. Lip gloss would be wasted on Drew anyway, one way or another. He seems to stare at me no matter what I'm wearing or not wearing, for that matter.
I gather up my pens, highlighters, and other study materials and shove them into my bag. It’s lighter now that I’m not tutoring twenty-five different people in ten subjects. I zip up the bag, throw it over my shoulder, and head to the kitchen. I grab a granola bar from the counter and an apple from the fruit basket, then head out the door. I’ve barely shut it behind me when I crash into a solid wall.