Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 188957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 188957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
“N-now?”
He nods. “Yeah. You’ve already been here for three years and now I’m trapping you for another eight weeks. It’s not really fair to you, is it?” Tipping his head to the door, he says, “Tell you what, you can walk out of here right now and leave. You can quit school, quit your classes. No one will stop you. Least of all me.”
I watch him for a few moments, my heart racing in my chest. “I can walk out of here right now.”
“Yes.”
“You’re joking, right?”
He shakes his head slowly. “I’ll even call you a cab.”
“Hilarious, isn’t it?” I glare at him, my nails digging into my palms. “You know I can’t leave.”
Something akin to satisfaction flickers through his features. “No, you can’t.”
“Not until you give me my money.”
And that’s the whole point, isn’t it?
That’s the whole point why I haven’t left yet.
Why I’m trying to chase him down and convince him to let me graduate.
Why I didn’t leave the moment I found out about not graduating on time.
I might have needed a guardian when I came to him at the age of fourteen, but I don’t need one now.
I’m eighteen years old. An adult.
I don’t need someone controlling my life. I can pack up and leave and no one will come after me. Not the law, not CPS or whatever bullshit organization.
But.
Charlie, my mother, in her infinite wisdom drew up a will that stipulates that I need to be a high school graduate in order to receive the first chunk of my money. And the other chunk, along with a bunch of other stuff like properties and whatnot, will be handed over to me when I turn twenty-one. There are a bunch of strings attached to that as well. Namely, that the final decision will rest with the guardian, whether or not I can receive what rightfully belongs to me.
I’m pretty sure it was Marty’s idea; I don’t think Charlie was even thinking about all the legal technicalities. So Marty drew up a standard will that he probably does for all the other celebrity kids.
So yeah.
I’m tied to him, my devil guardian, until I turn twenty-one.
I know that I’ll have to jump through hoops three years from now as well to get his fucking approval. But for now, I’m concerned about the first half of that money. Which is why I’ve been a good girl for the past week. I’ve been attending all my classes, doing all my homework. Which is why I haven’t been causing any trouble — not that I’ve felt any inclination to pull a prank or create a disturbance just for the heck of it — because I don’t want to put one toe out of line and jeopardize my graduation. Again.
Showing up here tonight is an exception, of course.
Which obviously is going to bite me in the ass tomorrow when I list all my secret pathways out of the dorm building to Janet. Who already has my Purple Durple, by the way.
“Your money,” he says.
“Yes.”
“Because you’re not just a spoiled little princess, are you?” His lips tip up in a very small smirk. “You’re a rich spoiled little princess.”
That was over the line.
That was way, way over the line.
My nostrils flare with a sharp breath. “Do you know why I want my money?”
“To buy more organic nail polish that glows in the dark and lipstick with weirdass but surprisingly accurate names.”
“No.” I lean forward. “It’s because I don’t want you to control it. I don’t want you to control any part of me. Not a single part of me. I want out of your fucking tyranny, do you understand that? Do you understand hating someone so much that you’d do anything to be free of them? This is it. That’s why I want my money. I want my money so nothing that belongs to me can ever belong to you. Not even for safekeeping. That’s how much I hate you. That’s how much I’ve hated you since I met you. That I’m ready to dance on my fucking toes. I’m ready to jump through all the hoops, go to summer school, sit through all the boring fucking classes, so one day I can be free of you. So one day, you can be a distant fucking memory. So one day you have to give up all, every inch of your control. On me. One day.” Drawing back, I shake my head. “I told you I hold a mean grudge, didn’t I? And I’ll be damned if I don’t hold it until the day I die. So I’m not a rich spoiled princess, I’m a harpy, Mr. Marshall. Your harpy, and I want my fucking money. And I want out of here in four weeks.”
Truth.
Every single word.
I didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to divulge the depths of my hatred for him — although I’m pretty sure he knows — but there you have it.