Chapter 20
Briggs
What the hell did I just do? I told myself not to do it, but the opportunity was right there, like it was handed to me on a silver platter.
So I took it and went with it, and now I’m screwed.
I just lost all my power with Ella. I showed my hand — let her know I’m attracted to her.
There’s no way she couldn’t know after that kiss.
I should’ve kept it short. Then she’d know it was all an act for the guy watching us in the parking lot.
But instead I kept it going, turning what should’ve been a simple kiss into something more.
Something that told her I’m not repulsed by her, like I pretend to be, but that I want her like I want Aubrey, or one of the other hot girls at school.
Honestly, I want Ella even more than those girls, especially after tonight.
Ella’s the smartest fucking girl I’ve ever met, which turns me on more than Aubrey wearing her skimpy lingerie.
And Ella’s funny, which shocked the hell out of me.
She always seems so serious, and she is, but then out of the blue, she says something funny, but in a way that it takes a moment before it hits you.
She has a dry sense of humor that makes you work for the laugh, which I find really sexy.
And she kept asking me questions, like she really wanted to get to know me.
I always thought Ella had her mind made up about me.
I thought she’d decided I was nothing more than a shallow, dumb jock who bullied her because I’m an ass.
That last part is true — I am an ass — but I’m not shallow, and I’m not a dumb jock.
But nobody sees that. People think I get good grades because I play sports and the teachers go easy on me.
But that’s not true at all. At Devonshore High, athletes aren’t given any breaks.
If they were, we’d lose our reputation as one of the best schools in the nation.
Everyone has to work for their grades, including me, and yet people don’t think I’m smart, except Ella.
I could tell she was impressed by what I said tonight.
I wasn’t trying to impress her. I was just doing the assignment, although I kept getting distracted by how she looked, and by the way her breath hitched when I touched her.
I couldn’t help but touch her when we were sitting that close at the coffee shop.
It was dangerous to sit that close. My mind kept going to the thoughts I had of her, the fantasies of us together.
It was almost too much, so I was relieved when that woman at the coffee shop told us we had to go.
When we got to the restaurant, I made sure to sit across from Ella, but it didn’t help.
I kept looking down at her tits bursting out of that tank top.
I’d force myself to look up at her face, but then I’d notice how full her lips are, how soft they looked, and I’d imagine what it’d be like to kiss her.
I imagined what it’d be like to hold her face as I did it, to run my hands through her long, silky, dark hair.
I tried to shut down those thoughts and remember how much I hate her, but then she’d say something nice to me or show concern for me, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get myself back there.
We got to the parking lot, and I should’ve just gone to my car, but instead I walked her to her truck.
And then this guy shows up, and suddenly I feel all protective of her, almost territorial.
It was the weirdest fucking thing. Then fate stepped in and handed me an opportunity.
I could kiss her and pretend it was all for show.
But from the moment her lips touched mine, I knew it wasn’t just any kiss.
There was something there, and whatever it was, it kept me from pulling away.
I thought for sure Ella would, but she didn’t.
Instead, she kissed me back, and damn, she’s a good kisser.
I don’t know if she did it for show or if she really was kissing me, but either way, that kiss got my mind spinning. I was hoping to stop these thoughts I’ve been having about Ella, but I have a feeling that’s not going to happen, not after that kiss.
* * *
In the morning, my father knocks on my door, yelling at me to get up. “You better be dressed and downstairs in ten minutes!”
I check the clock by my bed. It’s seven in the morning. He should be golfing right now, not banging on my door.
“I thought you were golfing!” I yell back.
“It’s supposed to rain so I canceled. Didn’t you read my text?”
Grabbing my phone, I check and see a text he sent last night at eleven. I was already asleep. I never go to sleep that early on a Friday night, but I haven’t slept much all week because of the accident, so I took some sleeping pills and knocked myself out.
“Briggs?” My dad bangs on my door.
“Yeah, I’ll be down in ten minutes.”
As I get out of bed, I hear his dress shoes thumping on the wood floor as he goes down the hall and then the stairs.
I have no time to shower, so I go to my closet, grab my black suit and a shirt, and get dressed.
This is so damn stupid. Even if I wanted to run the company someday, I wouldn’t need to learn everything right now.
I still have four years of college and two years of business school after that.
He’s just doing this because he knows how much I hate it.
I’m downstairs two minutes early, waiting at the front door, starving because I haven’t had breakfast.
My father hurries down the hall to me. “Where’s your tie?”
“I don’t need one.”
“You don’t wear a suit without a tie. Go upstairs, and hurry up. You have one minute. I’ll meet you outside at the car.”
As I go up the stairs, I feel a tightness in my chest as I try to breathe. My muscles feel tight, too. I can never relax around him. All I feel is tension and anger, like I want to punch something.
Just a few more months. I can do this. I can make it through a few more months.
I start to doubt that an hour later when my father’s yelling at me for screwing up a spreadsheet, telling me how stupid I am, and how he wonders how he ended up with a son like me.
I tune him out, wishing I were still in bed like every other person my age is at this hour on a Saturday, everyone except Ella.
She’s probably up by now, mowing someone’s grass.
I wish we could switch jobs. I’d rather be mowing lawns right now than listening to my dad rant about what a horrible son I am as he paces back and forth on the marble floor.
“Do you think this is funny?” he says, stopping in front of me.
“No.” I sit up straight, noticing I was slouching, which my father equates with laziness. Lazy people slouch; successful people sit up straight.
“Then why were you laughing?” he demands, glaring at me with his dark eyes. I got my mom’s blue eyes, but that’s about all I got from her. The rest of me looks identical to my dad, which is unfortunate since I hate him. Looking in the mirror is like looking at my enemy.
“I wasn’t laughing,” I say, but the anger on his face tells me I was, but what I was laughing about?
It must’ve been Ella. She was telling me this story last night about the first time she tried using her dad’s riding lawnmower and drove over someone’s flower garden.
Her dad didn’t even get mad about it, even though he had to pay to replace the flowers.
My dad would’ve killed me if I’d done that. He doesn’t tolerate mistakes.
“Get up!” my father yells.
“Why? Are we leaving?”
“We aren’t leaving until you do the spreadsheet correctly.” He points to the floor. “Fifty pushups.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, thinking he must be kidding. He’s never punished me with exercise.
“Hurry up!”
I take off my suit jacket and drop to the floor, doing the fifty pushups with almost no effort at all. If he were judging me on physical performance, I’d win every time.
“Impressive,” he says, raising his brows as I stand up.
Did he just give me a compliment? That’s a first.
“If only your intelligence could be on par with your physical performance.” He points to the conference table. “Now sit down and do the spreadsheet again, correctly this time.”
Three hours later, we’re still sitting at the conference table, and I can barely stay awake as he goes over client portfolios and trend data.
I hate this so much. It just proves I’m not right for this job and never will be.
I have no interest in it. No passion for it.
Maybe I would if I actually liked my father and respected him and what he did, but since I don’t, I want no part of this.
I want to do something completely different.
I’m not sure what that is yet, but I know it’s not this.
My father’s phone dings with a text. He checks it and smiles.
“Good news?” I ask.
“Very.” His thumbs move over his phone as he texts. “I’ve been invited to an impromptu dinner party at the Hamiltons’ tonight.”
“Do I know them?”
“Not yet, but you will. Emmet Hamilton is a British businessman who recently moved here and is looking to invest with us. I met him at the club last week. It seems I impressed him enough to get an invitation to his house tonight.” My father looks over at me.
“You see, son, this is how it’s done. You subtly work your way into someone’s thoughts until they can’t help but take action. ”
“You’re saying you brainwashed him?”
“I’m saying I know how to sell people our services without them even knowing it’s happening.
It’s a talent of all the Chadwick men. You’re just not there yet, but you will be if you stop focusing your efforts on girls and sports and actually take your life seriously.
” He closes the laptop and slips it into his work bag.
“Let’s go. I need to prepare for tonight. ”
I don’t know who this Hamilton guy is, but I’d like to call him and thank him for getting me the hell out of here. If he hadn’t texted, we’d probably be here all afternoon.