Part 16 (2/2)
”Don't act like you're going because you're pressured to. You want to go. You already told me it's all comped by the firm.”
”Ca.s.sie, we need the money. When your mother was... I can't screw anything up. You want to go to LSE? Study abroad? Is it on a scholars.h.i.+p? Is it?”
”No,” I say reluctantly.
”So who is going to pay for it? Me! And I would love to pay for it. I want you to get an education. I want you to pursue your dreams. Do you understand? Impressions are everything. The partners have implied that, under no circ.u.mstances, am I to not go with them on this retreat. I need to go. It's important. I a.s.sume we'll also be discussing work matters.”
”What are they to get you running so scared? Mobsters?”
Dad opens his mouth to speak, but then something weird happens. His brow furrows, and he c.o.c.ks his head to the side.
”No,” he says icily. ”They're not mobsters.”
”Then why do you sound afraid of displeasing them?”
I slap the dining table. A piece of macaroni jumps off my plate and, somehow, lands in my gla.s.s of water.
”Now, Ca.s.sie,” Dad says, folding his arms, giving me a disapproving look.
”Argh!”
I storm off, leaving him at the table, and stomp up the stairs to my room. Each wooden plank creaks beneath my fury, sounds like it's about to snap or splinter, and yet I feel powerless.
I slam the door to my room. The hinges rock in the frame.
Some f.u.c.king family I have. Mom's gone, and Dad doesn't care.
I tear a piece of paper from my pad, and begin scribbling down notes for my speech I have to give next week.
The baggage carousel trundles around lazily, and I'm just zoning out. I didn't get a wink of sleep, and the plane food has only left me feeling bloated.
I can feel the b.u.t.ton of my jeans digging into my skin, and a part of me just wants to unb.u.t.ton it, d.a.m.ned if anyone sees.
”Which one is yours?” Chance asks, striding up next to me.
”I don't need your help,” I say. ”Chance, I'm tired. Can we not do this here?”
He grins at me. ”What is it you think we're doing? We're not doing anything.”
”Why are you asking me which one is mine?” I sigh, and rub my forehead.
”Because no new suitcases are coming out. You've stared at the same bags go around three times now.”
I blink, and that's when I notice my grey suitcase.
”What the h.e.l.l?” I murmur to myself.
”That one yours?”
”Yeah,” I say.
He walks over and hoists it off the carousel, and he sets it down at my feet.
”Over-pack, did you? We're only here for two weeks.”
”Go away, Chance.”
”Whatever you say, Ca.s.s.”
I watch as he walks away, jeans hugging his hard a.s.s, and s.h.i.+rt sleeves folded up to his elbows. How the h.e.l.l can anybody look so unbelievably good after an eight hour plane ride?
I grumble to myself. I can't wait to get to the hotel. I need a bath.
I need some privacy.
Chapter Nineteen.
”I am not sharing a room with him!”
I huff out an angry sound at Dad, but he just looks at me, head tilted to the side.
”Come on, you don't actually expect me to share a room with a boy, do you?”
Dad s.h.i.+fts on the spot, creases his brow together. His crow's feet deepen. ”I thought you two were friends?”
”Not friendly like that.”
”Come on, Catherine. You're an adult now. Deal with it.”
I scoff. ”Deal with it? Are you serious? I was supposed to have my own room on this trip.”
”Well, that was before we knew Deborah and Chance were coming.”
”You mean that was before you got married?”
”Yes.” Dad sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. ”The hotel is fully booked. We had two rooms originally for two people. Now, we're four people, a family. Would you rather share a room with me?”
I grit my teeth. ”No.”
”Or Chance's mother?”
”Definitely not.”