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“You and your stepdad don’t get along?”
I took a huge bite of my own burger, giving myself time to decide what to tell him while I chewed. Taking a drink of my cola, I lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “He doesn’t like me, and I hate him. He pays for my education and my bills, but I’m not really sure how much longer that will last. My heart isn’t in it anymore. I’m bored to tears during the majority of my classes, and all I can think about is getting out from under his thumb, making my own way in life.”
“You don’t have to answer, but…why do you hate him?” He seemed sincerely interested, but I couldn’t do that to him. I just couldn’t unload all the shit Malcolm had put me through over the years. And if I was being completely honest, I didn’t want to chance him looking at me differently. When most people found out who my stepdad was, they changed right before my eyes. Cash had his own fame, so he knew what it felt like to be in the public eye.
While I was mostly out of the limelight, a good percent of the world knew who Malcolm McIntire’s stepdaughter was. And they didn’t treat me like a much-loved celebrity. They just assumed his political views—among other things—were my own. Fortunately for me, Lindsey knew exactly where I was coming from since her father was always in the public eye, and many of his constituents were usually pissed at him for one reason or another.
So, I stuck with what I told everyone who happened to ask why I couldn’t stand my stepfather. “He broke up my parents’ marriage.”
“Yeah, I get that.” He dropped his arm around my shoulders. “I don’t like my father either. But I don’t have a reason to dislike him other than he’s a huge dick.”
“I bet they would be BFFs if we ever introduced them.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, probably.” He touched his lips to my temple. “I’m going to miss you.”
Fuck, but my heart ached hearing those words, and I didn’t even know why. “I’m going to miss you too.”
Chapter 7
Amara
My stomach was in knots as I stood outside the mansion. It was starting to rain, something the SoCal area needed with how hot it had been lately, but I didn’t have a jacket or an umbrella. I was going to be drenched if the housekeeper didn’t answer the door soon.
Knowing Malcolm, he was probably sitting at his desk, watching me on his security feed, grinning like the evil prick he really was. I lifted my hand, flipping off the camera just as the door opened and Pilar stared at me stoically. The grouchy hag had been working for my stepdad long before my mother had come into his life, and in all the years I’d known her, she had never had another expression on her face. I kind of looked up to her, aspired to have the robotic face down pat. Too bad I’d never succeeded.
“Miss Amara. They will receive you in the great room,” she informed me in her ever-so-slightly accented voice.
“Perfect,” I muttered under my breath and walked through the house to the great room.
I hated this house. With all its priceless pieces of artwork I was screamed at if it even looked like I was going to touch something. But the place was cold and emotionless. Something my bruised and battered heart hadn’t been when I’d first moved in here with my mother at the age of ten. Then it became my worst nightmare, because whatever happened behind the closed doors of this monstrous house stayed here. But I was still unable to hide my emotions like Pilar could.
As it always did, my stomach dropped as I paused outside the great room where my mother usually received her guests. It was a power thing for her. The room represented everything that was at her fingertips. She was just as dangerous as Malcolm, only she put on a bright smile as she was slicing you down to size.
The urge to vomit was just below the surface, but I put on my award-winning fake-ass smile and stepped into the room.
Mother was sitting on one of the sofas that she took better care of than she ever had me. There was a magazine on her lap that she daintily turned the page of after her shrewd eyes scanned the article. Malcolm sat in his usual spot, a high-backed, plush, cushioned chair that would have had the permanent imprint of his ass in it by now if Mother didn’t so meticulously have it tended to. There was a glass of his favorite scotch in his hand, the crystal decanter open and sitting half-empty on the small table beside his chair.
He wasn’t a run-of-the-mill good-looking man, not by a long shot. But he wasn’t exactly ugly either. His hair was dark, and he had clear blue eyes. His face, like his body, was on the chubby side, but his features were well defined. It was the money and power that he came with, however, that had provided the allurement for my mother. The fact that he liked to hurt me on a regular basis had never even made her lift a brow over the years.
I gulped and forced my heart to stay at a steady pace. Malcolm would be able to spot my nervousness a mile away, and I couldn’t let him see how scared I really was when he was drinking. His drunk self would exploit my weakness, and I wouldn’t be leaving this house without a few bruises.
I despised how small and scared this bastard could make me. Hated that he had made me so reliant on his “generosity.” Nothing I owned was actually my own. Not my home, which was exactly what my apartment with my two best friends was. Not the car I drove. Not even my education.
It made me angry, and I fed off that anger as I stepped farther into the room with my shoulders squared and my head held high. “You wanted to see me?” I asked in my best nonchalant, bored-as-fuck tone.
Malcolm’s eyes latched on to me, and I kept my hands in my pockets to mask the fact that they were sweaty as hell. I was glad I hadn’t eaten on the plane ride home because the contents of my stomach would have been at my feet by now if anything was in there.
The sound of his glass thumping onto the side table echoed through the quiet room as he got to his feet. I was thankful he was steady as he marched toward me, intent shining out of his eyes. “Where the fuck have you been?” he snarled.
“I went to a concert with Riley,” I told him truthfully. There was no point lying about it. One phone call and he could easily find out where I was at any given
time. “What’s all the hysterics for? Lindsey said you have been blowing up our house phone.”
“You wouldn’t answer your cell. What’s the use in having one if you never fucking answer the goddamn thing?”
“It died. I forgot my charger, and so did Riley.” I walked around him and sat down beside my mother, casually peeking at the magazine she was browsing. Seeing it was some home and garden crap, I rolled my eyes and focused my gaze back on my stepfather. “So, what did you need to see me so urgently about?”
He visibly shook himself, as if forcing himself to calm down and not tear into me either verbally, or worse, physically. “Why did you turn down the summer internship for Cal-Pharm?”
