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The fact that, only a few minutes ago, I was checking her out makes me want to vomit.
“I-I’m,” she stutters.
“My sister?” I lead, fixated on her reflection with an intensity that should worry me.
“No. Yes. Well—”
“It’s not a tough question. Either you are, or you’re not.” Her large blue eyes stare into my back, and I swear she looks like she’s going to cry. “It’s not hard.” When she still doesn’t speak, I poke a little harder. “Here’s how this works. You open your mouth . . . or even better, bob your head.”
“No,” she mutters back and looks down at the floor. As if she is praying it will swallow her up and save her from me.
Spoiler alert: It won’t.
“Now that you’ve proven you know how to have a conversation, tell me why you’re here.”
“Trent, there is no reason to be hostile to the poor girl. I’m sure Mr. Baker will inform us.”
I turn to the owner of the voice. My sister, Ivy, is the picture of serenity beside her husband, Cyrus. They entered silently, a telltale sign that his bad habits have rubbed off on her.
My mother walks in behind them. Her stride is slow as if weighed down by a physical burden. Deep lines stretch across her forehead. In the past day, her eyes have grown due to the swelling from crying so much over the trash of a man she was married to for so long.
She’s been broken for so many years. Mom was finally starting to come out of her shell-shocked being.
And now she must face more lies from the bastard.
“We are only waiting for Erin now.” The damn lawyer needs to get this over with already.
And who the fuck is Erin?
“Who the fuck is Erin?”
As I echo my thoughts, the door opens, and as if she’s been summoned, a very attractive woman, who looks almost as old as Payton, walks in.
The resemblance is uncanny, despite the fact that her face is obviously stretched tight from years of Botox and fillers.
I peg her as Payton’s older sister. Her head is held high as she strides into the room. As if her arrogance isn’t bad enough, as if her mere presence isn’t an insult, she’s also dripping head to toe in diamonds.
Diamonds, I don’t have to guess to know how my father funded.
The gambling problem.
He fucked away his empire to finance his affair with his side piece, giving up his own daughter in the process.
Good fucking riddance.
If someone hadn’t beaten me to the punch, I would’ve killed him myself right here for his bullshit.
“This must be Erin.” I scoff, not a question but a statement. Turning my back to her, I look back at the attorney. “Now that everyone is here tell me why I had to miss my meeting to deal with this shit.”
“Your father wanted to go over his assets.”
“My father had no assets.”
“Well, that actually isn’t the case.” The lawyer looks down, sheepish.
“I don’t understand,” Ivy whispers. “Dad had nothing.” Her voice cracks on the last word.
So much has gone down in the past few years. Even speaking about Dad makes my fists clench.
