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I fucking hated this place.
The perfectly manicured lawn stretched out before me, the bright green grass almost glowing in the sunlight. As I climbed the steps to the grand entrance, I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread settling in my stomach. I knew what was coming.
The door was answered by Ms. Talbot, the house manager, a stiff woman who always seemed to be holding a clipboard. She was dressed in her usual black skirt suit, her hair pulled back in a severe bun. "Good evening, Mr. Daniels," she greeted me with a nod.
"Ms. Talbot," I replied, forcing a polite smile.
She’d been the house manager for at least the last ten years. And I’d never seen her smile.
As she led me into the mansion, like I hadn’t grown up here, I took in the opulence surrounding me. The marble floors shone beneath my feet, and crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings. Everything was immaculate, without a single photograph or other personal touch, as if no one actually lived here. Everything was updated every couple of years to reflect the latest styles and trends.
The dining room was just as grand, with a long table set for ten and more crystal chandeliers hanging overhead. My mother and father were already seated at the table, dressed in their finest attire. They barely acknowledged my presence as I took my seat.
And sitting to the right of my father…Kara Fucking Lindstrom.
Holy fuck.
I took in her too-tight dress, showcasing a set of fake tits that definitely weren’t appropriate for this kind of dinner table. She was the typical too blonde, too-skinny socialite with fake lips and a sullen expression, like she’d smelled some shit.
Nothing like my dream girl.
But now, here I was, sitting at the dinner table with Kara, who my father had conveniently seated next to me.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I muttered, earning a stern glare from my father who was daring me to fuck up the night.
“Kara,” I said, ignoring her offered cheek as I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, absolutely seething. I definitely wouldn’t be touching her or giving her any hope that anything was going to happen from tonight’s meal. Maybe I should whip out my dick right now and show her Monroe’s name?
Although, knowing Kara, that would probably turn her on–the feeling that she was hurting someone else.
“Lincoln,” my mother greeted stiffly. Her eyes were slightly glazed, and I wondered what prescription pain killer she’d chosen for today.
“Mother,” I replied with a head nod.
“Is there a reason you couldn’t shower before dinner, dear?” she continued, her nose turning up at my basketball shorts and hoodie.
I was out of the locker room and in the parking lot before I remembered showering would have been a good idea before dinner.
And then I’d said “fuck it,” and come in my workout clothes anyway, not wanting to face Ari again.
Unfortunately, Kara didn’t seem to mind the fact that I was sweaty and no doubt smelled.
My mother and father were both dressed to impress, my father in a tailored black suit with a crisp white shirt and a dark navy tie. His hair was neatly combed back. My mother wore an elegant crimson gown that hugged her figure in all the right places. Her blonde hair was coiled up in an intricate updo, with a few loose tendrils framing her face.
The contrast between their getups and mine was hilarious.
“Knew you’d just be happy to see me,” I replied in a mocking voice, causing Kara to shift in her seat uncomfortably.
Before my mother could say anything else, the staff filed into the dining room, balancing silver trays with various gourmet dishes. The aroma of the food filled the air, tempting my stomach to growl. But I knew I wouldn’t enjoy any of it. All I could think about was last night with Monroe, eating takeout while she sat in my lap.
The thought of it made my mouth water far more than the extravagant spread in front of me.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and hid it under the table as I checked the tracking app to make sure that Monroe was on her way to class. She’d texted me earlier to say thanks for lunch and tell me she had a catering gig after she was done.
I didn’t know how I was going to survive.
Miss you.
When she didn’t reply after a few seconds, I reluctantly slipped the phone back into my pocket and returned my attention to dinner.
