Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Is this what the next four years are going to be like? Because if it is, I’m not sure I want any part of it. Fighting for every inch. I guess that’s easier than fighting to keep my hands off her. Hating her is easier than wanting what I can never, ever touch.
Since I have a minute to myself, I pull out my phone and call the boss’s direct line. “Checking in,” I report when he answers. “All’s clear. We made a pit stop at a gas station outside town.”
“Glad to hear it. Once you’re settled, check in with me again, and make sure Mia knows to keep a list of whatever she feels is missing. You have the bank card?”
“In my wallet.”
“Good. I double-checked the account this morning. There’s more than enough in there for her books and other supplies.” Yes, and he won’t let her have the card. I have to carry it. That’s a fight I’m not in the mood to have, so I haven’t broached the topic yet. It’s only a matter of time, though.
The call ends, and I turn my attention back to the inside of the station. A familiar head of dark curls is close to the front counter. I know she has cash on her—I watched her accept it from her father before we left, and she has a debit card, which won’t be working much longer—but she’s taking too long. I should’ve gone inside.
My hand’s on the door when she steps away from the counter with a plastic bag in hand, wearing a huge smile that doesn’t slip when she joins me outside.
“See? The world didn’t end. I bought you a pack of peanut butter cups. I know you love them.” She reaches into the bag and pulls them out, holding them up for my inspection.
Now I know she’s up to some shit. “You’ve gotta get better at lying if you think you have a chance of getting around me.” I don’t care how it looks. I take her by the arm and pull her to the car. “What else did you buy?”
“Get your hands off me, you asshole.” She tries to tug away, but it only results in my hand closing tighter around her bicep.
“If you insist on getting in the way of me doing my job, this is how I’m going to have to treat you.” I practically throw her into the back seat before reaching into the oversized purse that slid off her shoulder. The bit of plastic peeking out from inside turns out to be part of the packaging to a prepaid cell phone.
“Give that back. It’s mine!” She scrambles for it but is too slow. I snatch it away, drop it on the ground, and stomp on the phone while maintaining eye contact.
“You know damn well you’re not supposed to have a secret phone.” The remnants are still lying on the ground when I get behind the wheel and peel away. “Keep pulling this shit, and you won’t visit a bathroom alone for the rest of the time you’re enrolled at this fucking school.”
“Fuck you,” she spits from the back seat. “I fucking hate you.”
I shouldn’t laugh. It’s the worst, cruelest thing I could do. But I’m in a cruel sort of mood.
Which is why I meet her eyes in the mirror before smirking. “Keep telling yourself that.” Her face goes a deeper red a second before she buries her nose into her father-approved phone again. Probably trying to come up with another plot around me. I know why she wants a different phone, to evade her father’s peering and have some privacy, but she can’t. Her father would kill me, so she can keep trying, but she’s not going to win.
All I have to worry about now is how I’m going to keep hating her without her father around to remind me why I need to.
And whether it’s really, truly important, she is kept pure for her future husband…
4
MIA
Stupid me, thinking things might be a little different now. Like if Dad wasn’t around, I could have a little bit of freedom for once. I mean, in whose world does an employee not slack off at least a little when they’re miles away from their boss? I guess in mine.
No, I had the bad luck of getting stuck with the last Boy Scout or whatever the hell Zeke thinks he is. Like he’s got to earn brownie points. I’m sure he’ll deliver daily reports, too. I wonder if he has to track the times I go to the bathroom and the outcome.
My arm still aches from the way Zeke gripped it as we roll up in front of a building that looks more like a spa or a fancy hotel than an apartment building. “This is it?” I mutter to myself as we pull past a series of meticulously maintained topiaries and a marble fountain shooting water high into the air. It sparkles like diamonds before dropping into the pool surrounding it.