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Shit. He cuts deep. He’s much crueler than I thought. My bottom lip quivers and my eyes water. I hate it. Hate him. Hate everything.
“Do you know who I am? Who my father is?” I implore, with less bite than I should have.
“I don’t give a shit, and if you’re so valuable, then why didn’t my dad’s old ass marry you?”
I want to walk out, turn on my heels, and tell him to kiss my black ass. I can’t. Our dads made sure that I’d stay. He’s my only option.
Dropping my gaze to his navy tie, I give him the answer that burns my throat.
“Heirs.”
“Heirs?”
Closing my eyes, I bleed the details, each word cutting up my insides.
“Your dad knows I’m the eldest and next in line to inherit my dad’s estate if something happens to him. He also wants heirs and as your dad’s only child, it’s your job to get me pregnant.”
The whoosh of air on my face has my eyes flying open in time to watch him recoil.
“Get out. Go home. Don’t come back.”
Everything inside me crumbles. My only option isn’t an option. Everything he says kills me more than the last. His tongue is barbed wire, cutting me every time I engage. I had a crush on him once until he killed it.
I was fourteen; it was the summer before my freshman year of high school, his parents were having an end of summer party for him that doubled as a going away party for him to return to his second year of college. I thought the nineteen-year-old was the cutest guy to walk the earth. Donning my best swimsuit (burnt orange - rumored to be his favorite color) and doing my hair in a complicated mass of waves which took over an hour, I’d strutted into the party with freshly glossed lips thinking if I could get him to at least notice me.
“Hey.”
It was barely out of my mouth before he nudged me away.
“Go away,” he growled his dismissal.
I had no choice because his nudge was enough to twist my ankle on my wedge sandals, causing me to fall back into the deep end of the pool. My hope downed, and my hair was ruined. As I was struggling to stay afloat, he studied me as if seeing me for the first time. He watched my dilemma, yet did nothing to help me. His cousin, with the kind green-blue eyes, fish me out instead. Slinging his arm around the girl he was talking to, Oran walked away to never look at me again.
Until today.
This is worse. He’s had time to hone his mean and refine his nasty.
He’d begun moving back to his desk, then pauses. It feels as if he turns in slow motion when our gazes collide again.
“I know you can hear. I said go,” he dismisses me while flexing both hands in a shooing motion.
“I-I can’t,” I stutter like a child speaking up to a parent.
“Why the hell not?”
Ringing my hands, I look at my shoes, mad at myself for another failed attempt to make myself presentable for him.
“I’m homeless.”
“Oh, that’s it. Your family is going broke and needs my family’s money.”
Our dad’s yanked me off my pedestal, ripped away my security, and tossed me at Oran’s feet. My stomach growls and the cash I have on me is running alarmingly low. It hurts that they’ve left me at his mercy, but my family is not broke by any stretch of the imagination. Oran’s arrogance has rubbed me raw.
“Since when have you ever known of LeClaire’s being broke?”
I challenge him, my fist clenching and unclenching. A sliver of recognition flashes in his eyes before they go blank. I’ve seemed to have found my voice because my lips are still moving.
“I’ve done nothing to you!”
