Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
After a quick stop at a bridal shop to get her measurements for the maid of honor dress, we drove to her parents’ house in silence. My favorite soundtrack.
About halfway through our journey, she let out a little sigh, and that was when I knew my luck had run out and she was about to start talking.
“I think I might be a horrible person.”
“Finally, a statement we can both get behind.” Was she expecting a pep talk? We were in the midst of a cold war.
“I mean it, Random. I think I am.”
I didn’t want to get to know her better right now. I didn’t want to hear about her woes. In fact, I regretted the moment I made the error of telling her about my humble beginning, but at the time, she’d looked about ready to off herself and a dead client would’ve looked really bad on my résumé.
She stared out her window with a slight pout. I thought I saw a tear sliding down her cheek.
I guess self-realization was part of the ‘grow the fuck up’ itinerary I’d thrust upon her. Sighing, I said, “Why do you think you’re a horrible person?”
“I just realized yesterday that I have no real friends. No real connections. My relationship with my family is in shambles. My life is keeping up appearances. It’s an empty shell.”
I said nothing. If this was her having a breakthrough, it was better she come to the conclusion herself.
“And all those Instagram friends…NeNe and Tara…” She frowned, shaking her head. “They haven’t even called me once since I got here. No one but Keller—he’s the closest, but… Don’t you think it’s weird?”
“No. It is very possible NeNe and Tara don’t know how to operate a phone.”
“I just feel like I’m wasting my life away.”
“You are,” I confirmed. It was the first crack in her tabloid princess persona, and I was going to break the rest of it apart and pull out whatever was hiding underneath.
“What should I do?”
“Get a job. Do something meaningful with your life. Contribute. It’s not like you’re a stranger to altruism,” I gritted out. “You care. Put your good intentions to use.”
“I always thought work was a means to an end. A way to pay for the pleasures of life.”
She looked mesmerized by the idea that doing something with herself was an option, rather than a bad joke.
“Why do you think people who retire deteriorate fast? Humans need to be on the move. Fight or die.”
“But I feel like everyone would love to see me fail.” She bit at her lower lip.
“Prove them wrong.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Then die trying.”
“What’s the point of trying if you fail?”
I smiled grimly. “You look at yourself in the mirror differently. Have you given any thought to what you want to do with your life?”
She inclined her head. No surprises there. To me, the answer was obvious. But she had to realize it herself. It was no good if I handed her the idea. It had to come from her. And, she deserved to choose that for herself, at least. Not like she’d had much say over the rest of her life, not with the family she’d been born into.
“Better come up with something.” I drummed the steering wheel. “It’s part of our process.”
“Okay.” She rolled her shoulders back, sitting straight. “Do you think I’m a decent person?”
We were still on that subject? Jesus.
“I think it doesn’t matter,” I said, and when she opened her mouth to speak again, added, “This conversation is over, Brat.”
The way dinner had gone, I was pleasantly surprised by Brat’s resilience. Her loyalty. She had every reason to write these people off, but she still kept it civilized.
“This is an informal supper. Please, feel at home,” Julianne Thorne urged, snug in her Alexander McQueen red satin jacket.
We followed the Thornes across the foyer, with Brat staring down at her feet, looking much younger than her twenty-one years.
“Good to see you again, Sugar Pie.” Anthony eyed his daughter. He glossed-over the fact his daughter ran away from their house yesterday without so much as a goodbye.
Hallie, stiff and uninterested, sported the facial expression of a prisoner of war. “The pleasure is all mine,” Hallie deadpanned.
“We were so shocked when you left without saying a word,” Julianne whined to her daughter.
“Oh, yeah? I was shocked you thought I’d stay after our conversation in Dad’s office.”
The girl had an admirable amount of fight in her.
We sat down at the “informal” table in the kitchen, not the fancy one in the dining room, while three chefs in absurd white hats produced sweet potato and buttermilk pies from an AGA. Accompanied by chicken fried steak, a hearty stew, and sweet tea.
Very casual, you see.
“So. Ransom.” Julianne kept patting the corners of her mouth with a napkin, even though she didn’t consume any food. “Please tell us all about your company. We’re eager to get to know you.”