But I won't promise things I know I'll never do. And that's why I simply keep looking at him.
"But when I saw a D in English Literature..." He grimaces as if showing me his complete disappointment.
I exhale loudly, tired of this conversation. I know I should express concern, but I'm just sick of pretending. I'm starving.
The second I get out of here, I'm calling the Craft LA and ordering a double cheeseburger with fried caramelized onions, pickles, and...
"...And when you do that, we'll discuss your salary in the company." He finishes his speech, and when his words finally reach me, I tense up.
I try to remember what he just said by scrolling through his last words in my head: five hundred dollars a week...change D to B minimum...start working at our company for the holidays...
What?! I'm not going to work with him. Not for the holidays, not ever.
"How the hell would I survive on five hundred bucks a week?" I exclaim, irritated, deciding not to mention the work. It's too long until summer to worry about that now.
"First of all, stop swearing," he warns me, but his face now expresses less concern and more satisfaction.
Of course, he finally got what he wanted: a reaction from me. I wasn't supposed to do that. The last thing I wanted was to make him happy.
"I guess you'll stop spending money on strippers," he declares, his voice even. "I’ll give you the money for an English literature tutor. If not for this, I wouldn't give you a cent."
"That's ridiculous," I snort, crossing my arms over my chest. "I have my trust fund, and you can't get..."
"Which you are allowed to use only after you turn twenty-five unless it's a payment for education or housing," he interrupts, without letting me finish, "but since I pay your school tuition and you live in my house, you won't see that money in the near future."
I squeeze my fists. I try to breathe normally, but it seems like I'll have steam flowing from my ears out of anger soon. Like a bull annoyed with a red rag.
"You know I wish all the best for you. You were one of the..." he starts, but I hold out a hand to make him stop.
"Don't even start," I say through clenched teeth and rise up from my chair.
He doesn't try to continue another lecture, this time about how much he cares about my future. He also doesn't tell me that I'm his only son and all he wants is the best future for me.
He knows I won't buy it. Not now, not ever.
I grab my backpack and walk out of his office.
Chapter Two
Serena
"Have you considered throwing a party at that house?" Samantha asks me while sorting the new books we received yesterday.
I roll my eyes, looking at her. "Don't be ridiculous." And I continue to add the information about the new arrivals to the computer.
We're lucky there aren’t so many people in here today, even though it's Friday. Most of them are probably out of town for the holidays.
"Why? They won't find out!" Sam continues to insist, although she knows perfectly how adamant I am about it.
For the last couple of months, I have lived with my friend Kendall. She is now spending her holidays in the South of France with her boyfriend and their parents. Sam knows about it, and that's why she’s asked me about a party three times this week.
"Don't even start," I retort and point a hand, showing her that this conversation is over.
She chuckles in response, not ready to give up that easily. "What’s the point of living in the middle of Beverly Hills if you don't get to use the privileges?"
I smirk, leaving her without an answer. The point of living in that house is because it's near the private school I go to, The Elite Academy. Luckily, last year I won a grant, or I could never afford it. When I met Kendall, we became friends right away, even though she's rich and I'm... well, not poor but obviously of modest means; otherwise I wouldn't work in this book shop for sixteen dollars per hour. I would rather be at home, preparing myself for UCLA.
A university that also requires payment, I remind myself. An expense I couldn't afford even if I worked twenty-four seven. My parents won't help me. My mom is a maid, and my dad is a mechanic. I know they simply can't do it.