Twenty minutes passed before our beverages arrived. Another ten before Ransom took out his laptop and started working in the corner of the room. We rounded an entire hour without being seen.
This was my punishment. For not taking their calls. For refusing to be a part of their family.
An hour turned into two.
By the third hour, I began pacing, sweating, making excuses for them to cover for my embarrassment.
“It’s probably something urgent. I’ve never had to wait this long.”
Ransom did not acknowledge my words. He kept working on his laptop, which he now plugged into the socket. This was for the best, since his answer would probably be:How long do you usually have to wait to see them?
“I think maybe we should go and come back later. I don’t want to be a burden.” I tried in vain to smooth out the wrinkles in my sweatpants.
“You’re already a burden,” he drawled.
“Not to you, to them.”
“I’m sure they share my sentiment,” he deadpanned.
“Better to be a burden than to be an asshole.” I made quick steps to one of the windows, opening it and looking outside to keep myself distracted.
“Debatable.” His condescending tone rose from the other side of the room.
Something caught my eye in the corner of the garden. Right behind the red yucca bushes and sage. It was my mother, sitting on one of the stone benches, clad in one of her cashmere sweaters and a sensible, ankle-length skirt, leisurely swinging a ball launcher and throwing a ball as far as she could. Bubs and Bamboo, her two Pomeranians, ran toward it excitedly, pink tongues flapping.
“Bubs! Run faster, bunny. You’re getting a bit chubby,” she fussed as the little dog wobbled toward her, the ball in his mouth.
Thiswas why I was left waiting? So that my mother could play with her stupid dogs? I was losing to four-legged creatures? Thatlivedwith her on the reg?
I stepped away from the window, turning to Ransom. “I would like to leave now.”
“You and I both.” He didn’t lift his eyes from his screen. “But we’re already here, and I’m not making this trip twice today. Dallas’ traffic is a bitch.”
“So am I, when I don’t get my way. I don’t want to be here.” I raised my voice, aware that I sounded like a brat from hell, exactly what he’d been accusing me of.
“Tough luck.” He typed furiously on his laptop. “No one cares what you want.”
The words slammed into me, physically making me keel over. He was right. No one cared about what I wanted. The cards had been laid like this ever since I could remember. And today was a prime reminder of it.
I stormed toward my bodyguard, slapping his computer screen shut. It snapped over his fingers, but all I drew was a passive,what-now?look.
Leaning down so our faces were aligned, I snarled, “I said I want to leave, and since you are my hired assistant, the person whose job it is to fulfill my orders, you will grab your keys right now and do as I say.”
It was a low blow. Especially since he’d opened up to me earlier today. But what could I do? I was so hurt, so wounded, so nauseous with rejection, I had no other choice than to flex what power I hadhard. This visit hadn’t even started and I already felt unwelcome. Hell knew what awaited me once I met my parents. Hera. Craig.
I was hurting so bad all I wanted was to hurt someone else. Cutting Ransom open might ease the pain. Or at least provide a distraction.
Ransom held my gaze, not a muscle moving in his face. He looked calm, collected, but alert. Desperation seeped from my skin. He could smell it. His eyes darkened.
My face was only a few inches from his. My skin prickled with an awareness I’d never felt before. I breathed him in. Exhaled the anxiety out.
“Be a good boy and follow orders, or I’ll have no choice but to make sure your life is miserable for the next few months,” I hissed out.
Still, he said nothing. Almost like he was giving me the opportunity to ride out the tantrum by myself. I felt like a child, like an idiot, and above all—dispensable. Unimportant. An afterthought.
“All righty, here we are. Hello, hello. Apologies for the delay,” a voice boomed from the doorway leading to the hall, low and southern. I didn’t turn around to meet my father’s eyes.
“Sugar Pie? Everything all right over there?”