“I am trying to be helpful, and you aren't allowing me to."
“If you wanna be useful, go back to New York where you belong.” He carries the empty dishes and piles them on the counter.
“Have I offended you somehow?”
“Your face offends me,” he snaps without looking back.
“Ew.”
He scrapes the remains of our dinner into the trash and sets the plates in the sink. I flip on the faucet and load the sponge with detergent.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“The dishes.” Soap suds gather on the platter below. I scrub it clean, then set it in the dish drain nearby.
“Let’s get something straight here.” Heavy footfalls stomp across the thick paneled planks. My shoulders curl as Jace meets me toe-to-toe. “You are not a part of this family. This isn’t some fuckin’ sitcom where we welcome the newly poor girl into our home and teach life lessons until we’re all BFFs. This is real life.Mylife. Stay the fuck out of it.”
The weight of his animosity sits on my chest. He stares down at me as if I’m a bug invading his household. "Oh, are you gonna cry again, princess? Here's a tip: your tears won’t work on me. My mom can believe anything she wants. She can believe you're the broken girl you portray but not me. I call bullshit on your act. So trust me when I say you don’t fit in here. So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll lay low, under the radar low, unnoticeable low. And stay the hell out of my way."
I open my mouth to defend myself, but he just turns on his heel and storms away.
I don’t know what I did to make such an enemy of Jace Wilder, but I have to find a way to fix it. Cindy has offered me a gift, a second chance, and I can’t blow it by being enemies with her son. If I have to grovel, beg, and plead, I will get Jace Wilder tosee that I’m not some dumb rich socialite. I can handle myself anywhere. I’m a Cartwright.
Chapter two
Istare at my reflection in the mirror, twisting left and right to make sure my outfit is perfect at every angle. I wasn’t given a lot of time to pack—a process which usually takes a great deal of planning on my part—so I ended up with a variety of things that don’t quite go together.
Still, I was able to piece together a Chanel pleated skirt and a DKNY flutter-sleeve blouse that looks cute enough for my first day at a new school. I slip my feet into my good-luck Louboutins, take a deep breath, and wander out into the kitchen.
Cindy stands at the stove with her back to the door. The smell of bacon and eggs floats through the simple space. I meander to the coffee maker that sits beside a small wooden sign that says,don’t shit where you eatand grin. What a weird thing to say.
“Good morning,” I greet, staring at the dark brown trickle filling the carafe below it.
“Mornin’,” Cindy chimes. She turns to dump a pile of eggs onto a plate. “I made you some breakfast.”
“Um…” I push a lock of hair behind my ear. “I’d really just love some coffee.”
“Nonsense. You need a good breakfast to start the day.” She pads past me and sets the plate on the table near a waiting glass of juice.
When she turns toward me, her gaze flits from my head to my feet, then back up to my eyes as her lips pucker.
“Is there something wrong?”
Her chest rises and falls. “Now, I ain’t one to criticize, but you may want to consider wearing something a bit more casual.”
Holding my arms out at my sides, I stare down at my clothes. The white top is airy and light, with delicate faux buttons leading to a black-and-white-striped miniskirt. I found it simple, an elegant yet understated ensemble that fits in anywhere. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”
“You look beautiful, but I’m just not sure that’s the impression you want to give off, at least on your first day.”
I offer a sidelong glance. “Why wouldn’t I want to look beautiful?”
Heavy footsteps thump in from the hall. My heart hammers to the beat as Jace enters. Ripped blue jeans hang off his hips, the bottoms shoved into loosely tied boots that scuff when he walks. The light glimmers on the gold ring hugging his nostril. Had I not noticed that yesterday?
He scowls in disgust. "When’s Barbie going back to Malibu?"
His remark earns a dish towel whipped at his head. "Enough, Jace. That is not how you say good mornin’. Have some breakfast and mind your own."
He grumblesgood morningand shuffles to the coffee maker. Cabinets slam, the violent ting of the spoon against ceramic. Without a word, he takes his mug and drops into a seat at the table. Long legs stretch in front of him. I don’t know if it’s him orhis personality, but his presence seems to take up all the space in the tiny house.