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)
Gerald.
Fuck, man. I can barely breathe with the lump that grows in my throat.
He doesn’t understand. His parents want the best for him. Mine wants what he feels I took from him.
I don’t even flinch, scoffing out a chuckle, and immediately play it off.
“What makes you think he’s telling you the truth?”
My father rebuts with another question. “What need would he have to lie to me?”
My thumb taps on the hardwood. Of everything I expected, it wasn’t a threat about tenure. It wasn’t that he knew we were lying. Every possible outcome races through my mind, fighting to be heard.
I respond to my father a little slower than I’d like but calmly and confidently. “I don’t know why he felt the need to lie to you, but if he continues, I have no problem suing him for slander. Just how far do you want to take this?”
“As far as needed. You won’t marry her. I’ll destroy you both before I allow her to have my last name or a cent of Wolf money.”
My hands twist on the leather armrests of the wingback chair. My palms are sweaty. It’s why I should have never told him. I should have kept my mouth shut. The moment a lie slips, it spreads like wildfire.
“So end it. Or I’ll end it all for you,” my father says in my silence.
Who the hell does he think he is?
Instead of just thinking it, I spew in a menacing tone, “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
He holds his hands out in front of him on his desk with a cocky grin, simply stating, “Currently, I’m the man who holds your future in his hands. You can call me your god.”
“Fuck you.”
He snarls, “Watch it, Ronan. I’m still your father.”
“In what sense of the word have you ever been my father?”
He slams his fist on the table, but it doesn’t faze me in the least. It takes everything just to sit here and not react.
“I’ve given you everything for you to lead the life you do.”
“Let’s get something straight,” I threaten. “You haven’t given me shit. Everything I have, I’ve worked my ass off for.”
“Oh,” he mocks in a condescending tone. “You think my last name didn’t get you there to begin with?”
“Stop blowing smoke. You’re the only one who believes the lies you tell, you narcissistic son of a bitch. You went out of your way to make every step harder for me. You couldn’t handle your son doing better than you, could you?” Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I have a leg up, but so does he. Fuck him for thinking he can hold it over my head as if he wasn’t dealt the same damn deck of cards.
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I mean, look at you. You’re the spitting image of me. Except I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be, and don’t you forget that.”
“I can’t remember something that doesn’t mean shit to me.”
“Enough!”
“But why?” I smile and shrug. “Here I thought we were just bonding.”
“Do as I say, or I’ll be forced to use my hand in this bullshit engagement you pulled to save your ass from fucking the dean’s daughter on your bar.”
Anger fumes and rages inside me, but I stay seated. I can’t even begin to think of how to fix this. Voices scream in the back of my mind, one voice louder than the others. The one who thinks of Brook and how fucked all of this is.
She never deserved any of this. I started it. I brought my problems to her, and now my own father will add to her pain. There are no depths to how low he’ll go. And she’s holding on by a thread.
It’s then that it dawns on me.
“It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the one who sent the email to the board?” My knuckles turn white as I grip the armrest tighter with the thought. “Were you watching the bar? Looking for something to shut it down, and instead, you found us?”
“You think I’d risk my family’s name? You think I’d film you fucking like a pervert?”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”
His eyes narrow in anger like I haven’t seen in years. “End it,” he pushes again, but there’s no way in hell.
“You have no proof,” I answer, and before I can even add my next thought, he slams a paper down.
I recognize it immediately.
The contract.
My blood runs cold. “There are no signatures.”
“There are emails, though.”
Adrenaline races through my veins. “And how the hell would you have access to those emails?”
“An accidental reply from your lawyer. I suppose having similar emails with the same last name can lead to accidents.”
“I’ll sue the fuck out of you and that dipshit lawyer.” I’ve never felt such betrayal.