21. Chapter 20
Chapter 20
Blake
F uck AJ and fuck SSI. I can’t believe AJ almost attacked that poor guy just because he asked for a signature on his petition. Seriously, who does that?
I tossed my bag on the floor and stormed down the hall to my father’s office.
Why is his fucking door closed? He never closed it when he worked from home. At least I'd never seen him do it.
I tried the handle. Locked. Pissed off at AJ but blaming my mood on my father’s locked door, I pounded my fist on the hard wood.
“Priscilla, I told you I’m busy!” The door muffled his yell.
It wasn’t like him to snap at her. I wonder what did she did?
“It’s me, Daddy.”
“Just a second, Princess,” his voice softened as he called through the door.
I tapped my foot as I waited for him to let me in. I couldn’t imagine what was taking so long. After what felt like forever, he opened the door.
“Sorry, I was on an important call.” He gave me a hug. “Now, what’s got you so upset you tried to bust down my door?”
“I don’t want a bodyguard anymore. AJ almost attacked a guy because he got too close." I paced around his office. "All he wanted was a signature on his petition.”
“Blake, honey, I’m paying SSI to make sure no one gets close enough to hurt you. He was just doing his job.”
I didn’t appreciate his condescending tone.
“But Daddy, he’s ruining my life,” I pouted and crossed my arms across my chest.
“You’re so dramatic,” Priscilla said as she walked in and plopped into one of the oversized leather chairs in front of Daddy’s desk.
I ignored her. My father greeted her.
He looks so tired . “Are you feeling okay?” He had dark bags under his bloodshot eyes and I’d swear he had more gray in his hair. “Maybe you should go away for a relaxing weekend.”
“We can’t go away because we’re paying for your stupid bodyguard,” Priscilla whined. The look she gave me reminded me just how young she was.
“Priscilla, that’s enough,” he chided her.
When had they ever been worried about money?
“This wouldn’t be a problem if your father hadn’t left everything to her in a trust fund,” she snapped at him in her high-pitched voice.
Is that what this was about? She’s pissed about my inheritance . Priscilla married my father, expecting him to inherit my grandfather’s millions. It wasn't my fault they didn’t find out grandpa left most of his fortune to me, in a trust fund, until after they were married. It'd been a shock when I found out at the reading of the will. Dad was even more shocked. Priscilla was pissed. When I asked, Dad said he didn't know why.
Unless Grandpa included a letter explaining it, for me to open on my birthday, I'd never know why.
In two weeks, when I turn twenty-five, I’ll be a millionaire.
“That’s enough,” Daddy barked.
Something was definitely wrong; he never barked at either of us.
“Blake, I’m fine. Just worried about you, that’s all.”
He avoided making eye contact, which was a huge red flag. There had to be something he wasn’t telling me. Was he really having money problems, or was Cilla being a bitch? Was he worried I’d judge him if he had money problems?
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.”
“Well, I’m not fine. And I don’t think Blake needs protection anymore. It’s been days and nothing has happened.” Priscilla glared at me like all this was my fault. “It’s not enough we’re paying for her college tuition, but we have to fork over thousands for her to have a bodyguard, too.”
I’d had enough of her constantly complaining about me and snapped. “The scholarships I earned covered more than half my college expenses,” I argued back. “It’s not like you had to give up your weekly waxes and mani/pedis.” Priscilla lived the life of a spoiled politician’s wife.
Sometimes I wondered why my dad married her. He can’t possibly love her . Not like he loved my mom. Priscilla was a spoiled, self-centered gold digger and too young for him. The complete opposite of my mom.
Priscilla was wrong about my college expenses being a financial burden, but she was right about the bodyguard thing.
I can’t believe I’m agreeing with her. I turned back to my dad.
“But she’s right about SSI. I’m sure whoever left the note meant it as a joke and is afraid to say anything because you hired security.” It was the only thing that made sense. No one had so much as given me a dirty look. Well, no strangers at least.
“Priscilla, will you give us the room?”
“Fine.” She huffed as she stomped her fuzzy slipper clad feet out of the room.
My father followed behind her and shut the door.
“I know this is disruptive, but, um, I think, SSI thinks the threat is real and I, we, have to defer to their expertise.”
He still wasn’t making eye contact. And why is he stuttering? My father was a brilliant prosecutor and an elegant speaker. He didn’t stutter, stammer, or get tongue tied. He's beyond stressed, and I'm making it worse.
“I’m sorry. I’ll stop complaining.” It was the least I could do to help him.
“Thank you. And you know none of this is your fault, right?”
I did. “Are we really having money issues?” I asked, half expecting him to laugh it off.
When he looked at me, the fear in his eyes was more than I could bear. I rushed over to him.
“Priscilla is exaggerating. I asked her not to go shopping for a while, thinking it’d be safer for her to stay home, and she assumed it’s because we have money issues.”
That didn’t ring true; she shopped a lot on line.
“Are you sure? I’d be happy to help when I get my inheritance.”
“No, no, that’s not necessary,” he dismissed my offer. “There’s nothing to worry about.” He rubbed my back to comfort me like he did when I was a kid.
I wasn’t convinced, but there wasn’t much I could do if he wouldn’t talk to me. “Okay, Daddy.” I pulled back and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
“I’ll see you at dinner,” he said as he sat back down and focused on his monitor.
I had a feeling he wasn’t being honest about their money problems. If it was a safety issue, Priscilla could shop online. Did he owe someone money? Was that why they threatened him, me? I’d be happy to give them what they wanted if it meant things could go back to normal.
I needed to study but couldn’t concentrate. After an hour of reading the same sentence over and over, I gave up and closed my laptop. Hoping it’d help me relax, I drank half a bottle of wine while taking a long, hot bubble bath.
Sadly, nightmares ruined my sleep.
I hugged my pillow as snapshots from the dream filled my mind. A large tattooed hand reaching for me. A bone-chilling laugh from a faceless man. A long, bright white hall with only one exit. The walls stretching with every step I took—making escape impossible.