Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
My body is at war with logic and reason, and my heart is a treacherous bitch. It’s that simple. I’m fucked.
My phone dings with a text message, and I don’t have to wonder who it is.
Aspen: You said you’d call.
Brooklyn: I will.
Aspen: I’m freaking out, and I don’t understand. What the hell is going on?
I leave her on read and try not to even think about the fact that no one else has messaged me. They all know. They’ve all seen. But no one else has messaged me. A tingle makes my fingers go numb as the server sets down a cup of tea in a porcelain saucer, complete with edible flower petals floating on top.
I get it. Things like this are a trickle and then a flood. They’re waiting to see the fallout. I’ve been here before.
It’s to be expected, I tell myself, then have another sip and pretend it doesn’t hurt. Instead of thinking anything at all, I look up and take a deep breath.
The high-end café is gorgeous. I love the energy and ambience of all the colors and patterns in the room. Not to mention, all the people enjoying their day like I’m still desperately trying to. Except I can’t. I’m about to meet my father, and I know it will cut the last string I’ve been holding on to today.
I try to focus on the ambience and allow the good vibes to take over until I’m distracted by the server again. After thanking her, I pluck the petals out like the little menaces they are and imagine they’re each one of those little bitches who are absolutely talking about me behind my back rather than to my face. The back of my eyes sting, imagining what they’re saying, but I honestly can’t give a fuck at the moment.
Although I’m grateful it hasn’t been leaked to the press.
Yet.
I won’t put it past them to leak it themselves. Everyone wants to be Queen B, which means cutting down everyone else any chance they give you. And I’m sure this opportunity is far too tempting.
As my rage and anger and the feeling of betrayal threaten to make me spiral, I grip the hot cup of chamomille tea with both hands and sip.
Deep breath.
I swallow thickly, barely tasting the beverage.
My most awful thought is that, hopefully, my father can fix this. As if he ever would. I can already hear him telling me I need to suffer the consequences even though I’m the one who’s been violated. On that thought, my phone pings.
Aspen: Seriously??? You’re just going to ignore me?
Brooklyn: I’m not ignoring you. Just barely holding on. I want to know who sent the video.
Aspen: I don’t know, but your dad can find out, can’t he?
I don’t answer, sick to my stomach over her response, and it’s then I glance at the time and realize it’s ten after. He’s ten minutes late, and he’s never late. I think he’s blowing me off.
Just as my emotions threaten, Aspen texts again.
Aspen: Or Ronan can.
Is it really between my father and the arrogant dick Professor Wolf? Those two men are my only hope? I hate relying on anyone. As hypocritical as it is. I wish I could just ask my father for a contact, but he’d do it himself and keep me reliant on him. He always has.
Aspen: Just so you know, I was thinking about making moves, but he never did. I was wondering why he wouldn’t flirt back, and I guess it’s a good thing it’s because of you. Even if you’re a b for not telling me about the two of you getting engaged. When did you start dating, and why didn’t you trust me with it?
I start to write “it’s not what it looks like,” then delete it. I know better than to put damning evidence into writing when my ass is on the line, but I quickly think about the text exchanges with Ronan earlier, and I suddenly run cold.
Shit.
Brooklyn: I’ll tell you about it later.
Aspen texts something, but I don’t get a chance to see what she wrote. My father’s shadow hovers above me, and I barely manage to look him in the eyes.
“Daughter,” he states slowly with spite as he pulls out the metal bistro chair, dragging its legs against the stone floor.
“Father.” I barely manage to keep myself from imitating his tone. “I was beginning to think you blew me off and weren’t coming.”
“I was debating on it.”
I swallow thickly, barely keeping his gaze, but I keep it. I’m not surprised by his response. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it too.
The server approaches, and before she can even greet him, he waves her off without even looking at her. She turns on her heels, her brunette hair swaying with a brisk of wind as she does. The chill and the turn of weather are apt, given the contempt on my father’s face. I feel bad for her. She didn’t sully his name. She’s just doing her job. I glance back at him, and it’s like he can read my thoughts. Sickness stirs in my gut, and I look back at my tea.