AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I will be. But the current Heirs have a responsibility in the next generation as well.” He quirks a brow. “You should be more than aware of this, Elliot. Scott did everything he could to ensure you were ready for this position.”
I only just about manage to hold in my scoff of disgust.
Yeah, that motherfucker sure did whatever he could to ensure my life under his reign was nothing but pure hell.
“I’m aware.” I’ve still got the fucking scars to prove it.
“You have a term left to ensure they’re ready. It’ll reflect badly on you and your reign if they’re not.”
I stare at him, hearing what he’s really saying.
It’ll reflect badly on me.
“Your brother and I haven’t worked as hard as we have during the Eaton reign for it to be?—”
His words fade off into the distance as my phone starts vibrating in my pocket.
I ignore it, although it pains me to do so.
I don’t care who it is, it could be a telemarketer, I’d prefer to talk to them than listen to my father explain all the ways he thinks I’ve failed during the past few months.
His deep voice continues to rumble around the Chapel, but none of the words register as my phone rings off, but almost immediately starts up again.
My heart picks up speed.
Whoever it is really wants me.
Abigail.
My stomach knots. I already know it won’t be her ringing me. She’s too damn stubborn for her own good. But it could be about her.
Before I know what I’m doing, I pull my phone from my pocket.
Millie.
Shit.
Even if it isn’t about Abigail. Theo’s little sister calling me while he’s away can only mean one thing.
I really need to answer but?—
It’s only then I realise that my old man has stopped talking.
Swallowing thickly, I risk looking up. His eyes are narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line as irritation comes off him in waves.
“I’m sorry, was I boring you?” he seethes.
My teeth grind. I could explain about Millie needing me and Theo being away. But what’s the point?
“Do you have something more important to do other than discuss how to recover your reputation?”
“I have a study session,” I say simply. It’s the only excuse that would ever get me out of a Johnathon Eaton dressing down.
His teeth grind as he glares at me. “This conversation isn’t over,” he concedes. “Scott is coming home this weekend. We need to sit down and?—”
My phone starts ringing again. “I really need to go before I’m any later.”
Marching toward the front door, I shove my feet into my trainers, throwing my bag over my shoulder, pretending it’s got something useful in it.
