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“No, as in, it won’t be happening, asshole. Besides, I have to attend an event with one of my overseas clients tonight.”
“I’ll take a rain check then.”
“Take no for an answer instead.”
“Allow me to decline.” He snatches my cup of coffee. “And quit drinking while on the clock, or outside of it, for that matter.”
Then he goes out, carrying my drink and leaving me with mountain-sized frustrations.
18
KINGSLEY
At the expense of being called a stalker with serial creeper tendencies, I find out where exactly Aspen is tonight.
Thanks to Caroline’s zero sense of hiding information. She was so easy to manipulate into telling me where Aspen is that it’s a little suspicious.
Especially with her devil-may-care chuckle at the end and the ambiguous, “You really should’ve seen those diaries.”
At any rate, I acquired the information I needed and got rid of Nate on the pretense that it’s an important business call.
He’s been spending the entire day either trying to kidnap me or force me to call my daughter. According to him, I should apologize. According to me, he’s a daughter-stealer and should go fuck himself.
Besides, she’s the one who crossed the line this time. To think I’m a woman-beater is the worst misjudgment anyone, let alone my own flesh and blood, has inflicted on me.
In view of the fact that I lived my whole life watching my mother being emotionally abused—abuse is abuse—any variation of that poison is beneath me.
Unless it’s bashing someone’s head in.
Conclusion of the story is, Gwen has to be the one who apologizes. And as much as putting a rift between us is no different than discarding a part of me, she needs this lesson.
And I need her mother to stop being fucking difficult.
For that, I have to find her.
It proves to be harder than I thought, considering I’ve been roaming the Carsons’ residence for half an hour and have caught no sight of her.
It’s large, ancient, and lacks a soul, like all rich people mansions. The old dog’s daughter-in-law is throwing some sort of a charity ball to help orphaned children. She looked serious about it, too, when I barged in here earlier without an invitation, as usual, but with a hefty check for the cause.
I doubt the Barbie-like blondie shares her father-in-law’s view that a charity’s only purpose is to serve as a tax haven for the rich.
The house has been decorated with soft lights and extravagant tables covered in red velvet. Screens upon screens show a carefully made video of children’s testimonials that no one pays attention to.
The guests mingle in closed circles, either gossiping or rekindling relationships. The actual topic of this night, children, is somewhere below nonexistent.
I stroll into the ball and eventually find myself in a group of old buffalos who were friends with my father.
I’m only half listening and definitely not entertaining them. Many of these fools thought that, as my father’s heir, I’d continue to invest in their businesses for the sake of our interpersonal relationships.
They soon found out that I don’t attend their birthday parties, have no interest in their backyard koi ponds, and I’m heartless enough to watch them go bankrupt instead of being pulled down into a hole with them.
My father was an investor, yes, but too attached for Wall Street’s liking. Which is why my fortune is way greater than his ever was.
I’m practical, logical, and absolutely don’t go around following people.
Except for a certain redheaded femme fatale, obviously.
I even had to take drastic measures by coming here.
