“It’s a book, moron. Some of us like to read.”
Her damn mouth.
I raise a single eyebrow. “You don’t even know me.” I tell her.
She pulls back, leaving my grip. Straightening out her gray t-shirt, she looks me up and down again. “I know of you, and that's all I really need.”
I chuckle.
She’s… refreshing.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Mikaela. Can you give me my phone now?” She’s bitter and her words drip with venom. A display of sass with arms crossed over her chest and those green eyes glaring at me.
“Sure,” I extend the device to her but pull it back right as she goes to take it. “But first, come with me.” I pocket her phone and turn to leave, only checking over my shoulder to make sure she’s following me.
Mik is fucking killing me.
Almost literally.
“She has to behave, Son. You get that right?” My father is perched on the edge of a high-backed chair in my home office, sipping a hundred dollar glass of cognac.
“Yeah, Dad. I get that.” I grip the edge of my desk, letting the sharp corner bite into both my palms. The pain keeps me in the present, prevents me from breaking down.
He’s not amused with my plan to clear my name while still getting the girl. Partly, he’s annoyed that his plan didn’t work. It’s normally not hard for my father to cover something up. A few handshakes and nice words usually gets the job done. If that doesn’t work, cash does.
But even our best publicist couldn’t spin the story that is the Wilder family. Once their public plea to arrest me, the supposed murderer of their youngest daughter hit Twitter all bets were off. The public latched onto the story.
Rich family, wild party, dead girl—what’s not to love?
The internet was filled with theories. Rich boyfriend kills sister? Scorned love? Cheating gone wrong?
None of them figured it out yet though, none of them know the truth of what happened that night.
Still, they all end up assuming that I’m the murderer.
Motherfuckers.
“People need to embrace you as a loving partner. If she doesn’t look completely in love with you, this whole thing will never work.” He is so worked up he downs his drink.
“I know.” I say between gritted teeth. I don’t need him to tell me how this needs to go, but my father will never pass up an opportunity to lecture me. Grating my nerves is his favorite pastime.
“The way she slammed that door upstairs makes me think that maybe she just doesn’t love you.” He snarls. Dark eyes penetrate me, my father doesn’t like loose ends and Mik knows too much to not comply.
Too much about our business, our family.
I hiss under my breath. I can’t stand the man, but on this one, he’s right. If people think that Mik is being forced to be here with me, they’ll turn on me even worse. I can see the headlines in my head already. Noah Bancroft: Abuser.
“I’ll take care of it.” I tell him. My fingers are pressing so hard into the wood that the tips turn white.
If we weren’t under a microscope right now I think my father would just take her family out, a final way to solve our problem. If the Wilder family went missing now though? It would cause chaos.
“The tear was a nice touch.” My lawyer, David, adds changing the subject. Probably trying to avoid witnessing an all out brawl between me and my father.
Dad huffs, downing more cognac.
David readies himself to leave, patting my shoulder on the way out. “Just keep being sensitive and nurturing with her. Let the public know that you love her and they’ll fall in line. And, please dear Lord, don’t let her talk to anyone.”