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Her blue eyes narrow as she flips her hair over her shoulder. “Good. Your life will be much easier if you understand how things work around here.”
I prop a hand on my hip. “Oh, yeah? What specifically are you referring to?”
Peyton straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin. “That you’re only here because D
addy didn’t want to tarnish his image by having a bastard child floating around. I’m his real daughter, in every way that matters. And when we get to Windsor, this is my year to rule. You’ll keep your ghetto ass out of my way and you’ll stay far away from my boyfriend, Kingston Davenport.”
I smirk. “Insecure much?”
She scoffs. “Hardly.”
“Then why are you warning me to stay away from your boyfriend?” I stick out my lower lip. “Aw, honey, are you threatened by me?”
Peyton curls her fists. “Listen, trash. You have nothing on me. Kingston wouldn’t touch you even if his life depended on it. Sure, Bentley might let you suck him off—because let’s face it, he’d let practically anyone suck his dick—but the minute he blew his load, he’d toss you to the side, because you’re beneath us. You don’t belong. The faster you get that through your tiny little brain, the better. Trust me when I say you don’t want to fuck with me.”
I smile, wondering what Daddy Dearest would think if he heard his little princess going off about blow jobs and dropping F-bombs. And who the fuck is this Bentley guy? My expression must make Peyton nervous because she starts shifting on her feet.
“No, you listen.” She retreats with every step I take forward. “I grew up in the projects, bitch. Ever hear of a thing called street smarts? You can’t imagine the things I’ve seen or what I’ve learned how to do. The unsavory people I know. If anyone should be worried around here, it’s you.”
I’ve learned how to defend myself when necessary, but I’m bluffing for the most part. I’ve lived my life trying to avoid trouble whenever possible, but Peyton doesn’t need to know that. I have a feeling if I don’t stand my ground with this chick from the start, she’ll trample all over me.
I fight the urge to cover my ears when she stomps her foot and lets out a shrill scream. “Just stay away from me.”
Her long hair slaps me in the face as she turns and marches out my door.
“Gladly,” I mutter.
Wow. Welcome to the family, Jazz.
I MANAGE TO FIND THE dining room right before the clock turns six. I may be early, but I’m still the last one to arrive. I’m also the only one who doesn’t look like they’re attending a posh luncheon at a country club. I didn’t bother changing my clothes which I suspected would push the control freak’s buttons.
If I’m being honest with myself, I’m actually excited about getting to wear the stuff in my closet, but this—a faded tank and cut-offs—is the real me. I want to make sure that my first impression on these people is as authentic as it gets. I recognize Charles Callahan from our one brief encounter as soon as I walk into the room.
He eyes me with distaste. “Jasmine, did Ms. Williams not show you where your new wardrobe is located?”
I take a seat at the far end of the fancy table. “Oh, she did, but I didn’t feel like changing.”
The woman sitting next to my father flashes a fake smile. Based on her major Stepford vibes, I’m guessing she’s the wife. “I’m Madeline, dear. Welcome to the family.”
“Uh... thanks.” I nod to the basket of rolls sitting in front of her. “Pass the bread, will ya?”
My wicked stepsister snickers. “You might want to think about skipping the carbs. We wouldn’t want any rumors floating around school that you’re pregnant with some gangbanger’s kid, now would we?”
Madeline chuckles. “Oh, Peyton, stop joking around, dear. Jasmine might think you’re seriously trying to hurt her feelings.”
Peyton presses her flattened palm over her heart. “I would never do such a thing, Mother.”
Yeah, right.
Peyton gives me a look that clearly says she is trying to hurt my feelings. Too bad for her, I’m not taking the bait. I jump out of the chair and grab a roll before sitting back down.
Chewing through a big bite, I say, “It’s all good. If some vapid bitch wants to start a rumor about me, let her. I don’t give a fuck what other people say.”
I give Peyton a look that says she’s the vapid bitch I’m referring to.
My stepmother gasps while my father says, “Cursing will not be tolerated in my home, Jasmine. I realize your upbringing has been subpar at best, but I will not allow any daughter of mine to sound so uneducated. It’s unbecoming for a young lady to speak such filthy words.”
I snort indelicately, earning a horrified look from his wife. “First of all, I prefer Jazz, not Jasmine. Secondly, my upbringing was just fine. You do realize this isn’t the 1950s, right? Women swear all the time. I’ve even read a study recently that said people who curse often are typically smarter than those who don’t.”
