Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
There wasn’t a way for me to acknowledge him that wouldn’t start a third world war, so I kept my mouth shut.
“Edie, we need to talk.”
“I thought that’s what we were doing.”
He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. The grave look on his face told me he was disappointed with me again, though hell if I knew why.
“I saw your exchange with Rexroth yesterday in the break room. The whole floor did.”
My eyes darted to him, my mouth falling open before I could fashion a comeback. If my father suspected I was flirting with Rexroth, he would strip me out of everything I cared about and had left. I couldn’t allow it.
“Listen—” I started, but he cut me off with a wave of a hand.
“No daughter of mine would be stupid enough to fall for his brute charm. I do know that, Edie.” He started slipping on his tie, tying it without even having to look in the mirror. I sat back, folding my arms over my chest.
“But I saw the way he looked at you, and the way he leaned into you, both of which weren’t appropriate considering your age difference and your recent employment with us. I’m not sure what Trent Rexroth has in mind, but he will not get his way, whatever that is. Now, you know your father well enough to understand the consequences of associating with him, correct?”
Was Jordan going to off Trent Rexroth? I wouldn’t put it past him. He was positively certifiable when it came to protecting his family’s honor, with honor being the operative word here. Love, feelings, and general wellbeing were disposable in his world. The realization that this conversation could go in so many different ways—all of them wrong—hit my stomach first, then rolled up to my chest, making my throat close up. My heart was littered with broken promises and half-baked happy moments. A wasteland of hopes and dreams that could never be fulfilled without Theo.
“Rexroth doesn’t interest me, so don’t waste your breath warning me off him,” I said, flicking old sand from between my chipped fingernails. It was always there, no matter how much I picked at it. Truth be told—I loved it there. The sand reminded me of the ocean, of surfing, of freedom.
“Would you like me to increase your hourly rate?” Father lurched forward like a heavy machine, taking my hand in his and clasping it robotically. His skin was cold and dry, a perfect metaphor to the man he was. I considered my words carefully, my gaze gliding over our hands, how unnatural they looked and felt.
“Well, you do only pay me minimum wage.”
“And would you like for me to arrange it so that you could see Theodore on Saturdays and every other Wednesday evening?” He followed, his smile cunning. Theodore. Not Theo. Never Theo.
My fingers were shaking, itching to withdraw from my father’s grasp. They trembled to touch Theo again. To feel his face between my hands. His laugh on my skin. His soul next to mine. At the same time, I knew Jordan well enough to recognize the carrot he was dangling in front of me was poisonous. My hand still stung from his touch, and I wanted to wash it with soap, scrub it until the first layer of skin peeled. He leaned closer, his breath full of minty toothpaste and venom.
“I need you to help me, Edie. There’s a job to be done, and you’re the perfect candidate.”
“I’m listening,” I said, wanting to see where he’d take it.
“Trent Rexroth. I want you to sniff around him. Find out what his deal is.”
“Why?” It didn’t take a genius to know these two hated each other. Then again, my father collected enemies like one would stamps or Christmas cards. Dutifully and fondly. Every powerful person he came across was labeled, seen and treated as a national threat. The term egomaniac was invented, coined specifically for him. Jordan Van Der Zee had no problem being agreeable to people less worthy, rich and important than he was. But the minute you became a competitor, or an obstacle, he would run you over and reverse back and forth just to double-check and be on the safe side.
“His silence is irking, and he always goes against me. He is up to something. I want to know what it is. I want to know all there is to know about what he does in his office behind closed doors. I want to know what days he takes his daughter to the therapist. I want to know his schedule. Where he keeps his safe and files and iPad. I. Want. To. Know. Everything.”
Clearly, he thought Trent Rexroth was scheming something shady behind his back. A hostile takeover, or maybe a surprise ambush that would affect his beloved investments company.