Page 104 of Hate To Be Mine

“We’ll update you when we hear more,” I told each crew member. “No surprises. We’re monitoring the situation closely. Everyone stays safe. That’s the priority.”

People thanked us. Some hugged Sebastian. A few even hugged me, which felt strange and nice at the same time.

We were halfway through our rounds when my phone buzzed with an email notification. I didn’t have to guess who it was. I could try and convince myself he heard about the storm and he was checking in on me.

But he wasn’t.

He didn’t care.

I stopped walking and pulled out my phone.

“What’s wrong?” Sebastian asked.

I shook my head and opened the email.

Bernadette,

Since you asked, I’ll explain the financial realities you seem determined to ignore.

If we void the Blackwell policy based on your misconduct, they’ll have to pay a substantial cancellation fee. I won’t bore you with the details—I know you find the riveting world of voidable contracts tedious. Bottom line: the company stands to make a significant amount of money. And daddy needs a new beach house.

So be a good girl and make it happen. Find me a legitimate reason to void this policy. For once in your life, be useful.

I read it again. Then a third time.

Daddy needs a new beach house.

For once in your life, be useful.

He never talked to me like that. He was never going to be father of the year, but holy shit. That was just mean. And cold.

“Bernadette?” Sebastian had put his hand on my shoulder. “You’re shaking. What’s wrong? The storm? Is it coming at us?”

My father would never have a career writing Hallmark cards. I blinked away tears. I was not going to cry. My hands were trembling. Shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone.

All my life, I’d done what my father wanted. I busted my ass for his company instead of pursuing my own dreams. I wore the clothes he approved of. Made myself smaller, quieter, and more acceptable. I tried desperately to be the daughter he wanted instead of the person I was. I rarely dated because I knew there were few men he would ever approve of. And it would mean my time and attention would be pulled away from the company.

And this was what I got. Casual dismissal. Emotional manipulation. Being told to commit fraud so he could buy a beach house. He didn’t care about me. He didn’t care if it went against my morals.

He simply did not care.

Something inside me snapped. I hit the reply and started typing, my thumbs flying across the screen.

Dad,

If you attempt to void the Blackwell policy through fraudulent means, I will immediately hand over every email, every recording, and every directive you’ve given me to the Blackwells’ attorneys. I will not participate in insurance fraud. Not for you. Not for anyone. Not for a beach house or anything else.

How’s that for useful, you ungrateful prick?

I read it over once to check punctuation and my grammar. Fuck that. It wasn’t formal. A fuck you didn’t have to be formal. In fact, it was better if it wasn’t formal. I wanted it raw and gritty. Maybe I’d go back and add a couple of F-bombs just to get my point across.

Nah. It wasn’t worth my time or energy. I hit send. Boom.

For a moment, I just stood there, phone in hand, processing what I had just done. I’d just committed an act of rebellion that could end my family ties forever. I was certain that little outburst cost me my job, which in turn would cost me my apartment. My health insurance. Everything I had worked for.

One email and it was gone.

And I felt free.