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Fuck. Him.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS, YOUNG LADY?!”
My feet stutter to a stop as soon as we enter the lobby of the Hilton when I hear my dad bellow from across the room.
“What the hell?” I mutter, hurrying over to him, shooting apologetic looks to the people sitting on couches and waiting in line at the front desk, who are all staring at my dad in fear.
“Dad, what are you doing here and why are you screaming in the middle of the Hilton?” I ask as he pulls me in for a hug.
“I was practicing my stern-dad voice. It’s like you don’t even know me,” he complains, pulling out of the hug. “The girls called me for backup. I’m trying to get the right timbre in my voice so Sebastian pisses himself.”
He turns to a man sitting on a chair a few feet away from us.
“Tell me, young man. If I yelled that a few inches from your face, would you piss your pants?”
Grabbing my father’s arms, I turn him away from the poor guy.
“Dad, I don’t need backup. You are not fighting my battle today,” I tell him firmly.
“Can I at least growl at him? Curl my lip and threaten him with my eyes? I just want him to piddle in his pants. Just a tiny bit,” he says, holding up his hand with his thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
“Fine, I will allow a small growl, but that’s it. You stay back and you stay quiet, got it?” I look back over my shoulder at the girls. “That goes for all of you as well. Not. One. Word. I’ve got this, okay? Like Cindy said, I’m going to remain calm, and I’m just going to talk to him and get everything straightened out.”
My dad and Anastasia both sigh in exasperation, but everyone nods their head in agreement as we head to the elevators.
I sent Sebastian a text earlier telling him I was ready to talk, and he immediately replied back with his room number. Poor bastard thinks he’s going to break this news to me gently, give me some big sob story, and I’ll be so weak and pathetic that I’ll forgive him for what he’s done. Poor bastard hasn’t met self-confident Ariel. There will be no forgiveness for this shit.
When we get off at his floor, I lead the way down the hallway to his room, reminding everyone again to keep their traps shut and that this is going to be a civilized conversation between Sebastian and me, with no screaming, punching, kicking, or being arrested.
They all stand back a few feet as I knock on the door, taking a deep, calming breath and smoothing my hands down my sides. A few seconds later, I hear it being unlocked.
The door is flung, open and as soon as I see Sebastian standing there with a smile on his face, I pull my arm back and slam my fist right into his nose.
“Hell yeah!” Anastasia shouts from behind me.
“Language!” Cindy scolds as Sebastian starts screaming, his hands pressed against his nose, which is now pouring blood.
“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” I shout, smacking my hands against his chest and shoving him as hard as I can.
He goes flying backwards and lands on his ass, as I rush into the room and stand between his splayed legs with my hands on my hips, looking down at him.
“I cannot believe I actually loved you, you piece of shit!”
“Ariel, please, calm down!” he says in a muffled voice, his hands still covering half of his face, blood dripping between his fingers.
“I’m sorry, did you just tell me to calm down?” I ask, pulling my leg back as I look at his crotch. “Can I get a ruling from the jury? Did we all hear him tell me to calm down?”
“I heard it,” Belle says from behind me.
“Me too,” Cindy adds.
“I can’t believe you made me leave the tire iron behind,” Anastasia complains
“Grrrrrrr,” my dad growls menacingly.
Sebastian quickly moves his bloody hands from his nose to cover his pencil dick, staring up at me in fear.
“I take it you know?” he asks as I stomp my foot back down. He flinches when it lands right at the juncture of his thighs.
“Oh, you mean do I know you never filed our divorce paperwork, and I’ve paid you thousands and thousands of dollars, so many dollars that I had to sell my fucking business and lost my home? Yeah, I got that memo, asshole. You have one minute to explain yourself or I’ll let Anastasia go back outside and get the tire iron,” I tell him, pointing over my shoulder with my thumb. “She’s a teenage girl with raging PMS. I’m sure she’s got a lot of aggression to take out. Besides she’s a minor and will get off with a warning.”
