Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 52338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
The ride to my house is relatively quiet aside from his occasional bad singing, and soon enough, we're pulling into my driveway. Thankfully, my father isn't standing in the window, but to my surprise, Trent turns the engine off and gets out of the car. I scramble out of the passenger seat, looking over my shoulder at my house before turning back to him with wide eyes.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
He raises an eyebrow at me as if I'm insane. "Walking you to your door?" he says, but it sounds more like a question than a statement. "Isn't that what guys do at the end of dates?"
Before I can even respond, he strolls over to me and puts an arm around my shoulders. I say a silent prayer that my dad is occupied in another part of the house, only to have that idea tossed out when my dad opens the front door. A frown settles on his face as he regards Trent before he moves his stern gaze to me.
"I had car issues, so he gave me a lift home," I quickly say.
My father cuts his eyes back to Trent. "I see."
"I'm Trent, by the way." Trent holds his hand out toward my father, and even though he hesitates for a brief second, he finally shakes it. "I go to the same college as Morgan."
"I see," he says again. After a moment, he steps aside. "Well, come in."
I shake my head. "He was just leaving—"
"It's fine." Trent steps over the threshold into my house, and I sigh inwardly before following. We stand in the foyer, my father looking at us both with his hands in his pockets.
"So you go to the same college as Morgan." He looks Trent up and down. "What year are you in?"
"I'm a junior, sir," Trent answers.
"You do know that my daughter is a freshman, yes?"
Trent nods. "She's told me, yes."
"How old are you? Morgan's only nineteen, and no offense, but you look a bit older than she is," my father continues.
"Oh my god, I'm not a baby, Dad," I mumble under my breath. Embarrassment heats my skin as I avert my gaze to the marble floor, wishing it would open up to swallow me whole.
He turns his attention to me and for a second, I wish I hadn't said anything. "You have an Instagram Live that you need to start soon, so it's best if you start getting ready for that," he says instead. Trent raises an eyebrow, and it's then that I remember that he doesn't know about my social media. My dad continues speaking. "I've already laid out a dress for you to wear, so you don't have to spend too much unnecessary time trying to find the right outfit, as you like to say."
Embarrassment fills me as my dad goes on and on about the specifics, and I can only imagine what's going on in Trent's head as he listens. But when I look up at him, his expression seems neutral, as if he's unfazed by what he's hearing.
"If you want, I can hold the camera for you," he offers. Technically, I don't need him to since I have a tripod, but I'm willing to use any opportunity I can to spend a little more time with him if I can.
"That's not necessary," my dad says, shaking his head.
"It would actually help me a lot," I quickly say. "My tripod is broken, which is the real reason why I was late with my last post and—"
"And when did you plan on telling me your tripod was broken?"
I give him a sheepish shrug. "I'm telling you now."
No one says anything for a long while before my dad finally sighs. "Fine. Next time, you should tell me these things when they happen and not after the fact," he says.
"I will." I bounce up on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek. "I'm going to go get ready."
I grab Trent's arm and pull him toward the stairs, not stopping until I’m in the comfort of my room. I flop down on my bed while Trent closes my bedroom door behind him.
"Your dad is...something," he says as he sits beside me.
I nod. "Yeah, he is. Sorry about that. He can get pretty focused on business at times."
"Yeah, I noticed." He runs his fingers over the sparkly red dress on my bed. "No offense, but he seems to act more like your handler instead of your dad. Is that how he always is, or just when you have things you have to get done?"
I shrug, not sure how to answer his question. I honestly can't remember the last time my dad was just my dad. A lot of our relationship now involves the business side of things, which is probably why we're in the weird space we're in now where I don't particularly care to be around him very often. Sometimes I want to talk about things other than my follower count or how to improve my social media grid or the critiques he has about things I've done online that he thinks I could've done better. I just want to have a normal relationship with him, not always feeling as if he was just my manager who also happens to be my biological father.