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What did I do? What did I do?
I nearly rip the dress as I tear it down, throwing my dressing gown over my underwear before I run out into the hall. I race up the stairs into the main house and find Willow sitting at the breakfast table eating her porridge.
“H-hi, Willow,” I stammer.
She looks up and frowns. “What happened to you?’
“Good question,” I mutter as I look around the house in a panic. “Where’s your father?”
“He’s just about to go golfing, I think he’s in the garage.”
I bite my bottom lip. "Okay, thanks. I need to see him about something." I run out and down the back steps to the garage. I find Mr. Masters in there cleaning his golf clubs with a rag and what looks like a bottle of oil. He's looking down and concentrating on the task at hand.
“Good morning.” I smile. Please let this all be a figment of my warped imagination.
His eyes flicker up to me, and then back to his golf clubs.
Shit. He’s pissed.
I twist my fingers together as I watch him, not knowing what to say.
“Is everything okay? I whisper.
His cold eyes rise to meet mine. “No, everything is not alright,” he says coldly.
My eyes widen. “What’s wrong?”
“You can’t be that obtuse, Miss Brielle.”
My heart starts to beat faster.
He goes back to cleaning his golf clubs.
“Did I wake you last night?” I whisper.
His furious eyes rise to meet mine. “Among other things.”
I scratch my head in confusion. “What does that mean?”
“It means your sexual advances are superfluous.” He sneers.
My eyes widen in horror. What the fuck? “S-sexual advances?” I stammer. “Why…what? What do you mean, sir?”
He slams the golf clubs down on the ground with a thud. “You know exactly what I mean.”
I ring my hands together in front of me. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Masters, but I don’t even remember getting home last night. Please tell me what happened.”
He shakes his head in disgust, opens his car, and walks around the side of it. I run after him like a puppy. “What happened? What did I do?” I plead.
Oh God. What did I do?
He throws his clubs into the trunk and slams it shut. "And this incongruous behavior is unacceptable," he growls.
“I don’t understand.”
“This…” He gestures to my dressing gown. “This has got to stop.”
“What has?”
