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With every location and minute detail, his eyes sparkle further with what I can only guess to be pride. Holy shit, he's really buying all this. I mean, I planned for it, but... I didn't know if he'd take it this well.
"I, uh..." I clear my throat, avoiding his gaze, in an almost embarrassed way—embarrassed for my past transgressions, specifically. And he eats it up, his eyebrows raising. "I've started saving up for my first property... I don't know if you'd be open to it, but we could go in on one... together?"
The word floats out between us. Together.
The most vital part of my grand scheme, the bridge between the two tales I'm spinning. If I were to go into a property together, then I would seem under my father's wing. And, in turn, coupled with the new, responsible girlfriend, he'd think I had turned my life around, and I'd soon be off his radar with my trust fund no longer in limbo. All without me having to lift a finger or change my lifestyle, because, as every silver-spooned individual knows, money can fix any problem.
Including having to manage your own real estate.
"I'd run the whole property," I lie. "Make it my first priority. Rent out the rooms. An apartment complex, maybe, or a commercial building. Keep things running smoothly... What do you say?"
Absentmindedly, he taps his fingers atop the table, resting his chin in his palm, contemplating the proposition. My heart somersaults, in light of perhaps the first time my father's ever taken me seriously.
"I think..."
He looks me dead in the eyes, his swirling with a rare delight and acceptance. My blood pressure soars down, my mind finally at ease. I pulled it off. I really, really pulled this off...
"I think you can cut the crap now."
My posture straightens. Wait, what???
"Huh?" I feign confusion, frowning deeply.
"I said, you can cut the crap. Do you really think I believed a single word you said?"
"But I—"
"God, you really are hopeless." He laughs, cold and vicious. "I checked in on that online school you're supposedly attending. Yeah, they've never heard of you." My mouth springs open, only for him to interject once more, reading my mind as if he's got a key to its door. "And don't waste your breath on some student confidentiality bullshit. A little donation to their fine arts program proved pretty convincing in bending their rules."
Shame burns my cheeks. But also anger, rooted in a long-standing resentment toward the man who made me into the way I am. If he wants someone to blame for the pit stain upon his family, he should look no further than himself.
"Just do it, already."
"Do what?"
"Pull my trust."
He smiles, full of greed. There's nothing Warren Kingston loves more than having power over someone. That's the true reason he hasn't pulled it already. He couldn't dangle the threat in front of my nose anymore.
"Oh, no... I have something much better in store for you. I planned to tell you at our next family dinner, when you two were both together, but now's a good time."
"And what's that?" I ask, wishing now more than ever I'd chosen something stronger than matcha, as if alcohol might soften the blow.
"An internship. With your brother."
ELEVEN
HAYDEN
"Can't we just hire movers?" I grumble, stepping into the elevator. Cramped and overdue for a cleaning, it hardly fits two people, which could be said about the rest of Juliana's apartment complex—and I've only seen the lobby.
She shakes her head, hitting the third floor. "I'm not paying for that."
Concerned for my designer jeans, I shy away from the dingy wall, brushing up against her. But I regret it immediately, as her rosy shampoo floats through my nostrils, right up to my brain. Who knew a girl in a ponytail, yoga pants, and an oversized Star Wars T-shirt could prove so distracting.
When the elevator opens, she practically bolts from my vicinity. Not that I mind, as I trail her down the narrow hallway, appreciating the way her hips sway in her tight pants. Like a man spellbound, I watch shamelessly, until the thought of Jeremy ruins everything, specifically his fist slamming between my eyes. Suddenly, the vinyl flooring and chipped paint on the walls are really interesting.
"I could pay for it," I say, when she stops at a door. "Just like I paid for the movers who cleared out your new room, which has an incredible view, by the way." Her brows lift curiously, only to furrow when I mumble, "Though, not as good as my room."
