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If only it were that simple.
It’d be easier to stomach who I was and what I did to others as I weaseled my way into their lives and lied until I destroyed them.
“Your opinion is duly noted.”
I swiveled on my heel and headed for the break room, hellbent on getting out of here before he could see me break down.
The first tear slipped past as I grabbed my things from my locker. I swiped at it with the back of my hand, my movements jerky and angry.
I had identity issues, yes, but surely this wasn’t me. I wasn’t the girl who cried when the mean boy pointed out all her flaws.
I’d thought I had a spine.
“Don’t cry.”
I swung my head to Bastian. He stood at the door, his arms crossed as he leaned against the archway.
His voice was harsh as he spoke, “Biters don’t cry.”
“Maybe I’m not a biter.” I certainly didn’t feel like one as my voice wobbled, and I swayed a little to the right.
“You are, but you’re lost.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I am, too.”
I swallowed the thickness in my throat and shook my head.
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ve been asking myself why someone with a double major from Degory University would spend her time bartending for an asshole she can’t stand. You could have any job you want, not just because you have a fancy degree but because you’re smart. I see it in you—that unshakeable drive people are born with and can’t be taught.”
He gestured down his body, and I followed the path of his hand, taking in the three-piece suit only status could buy. Not a hair or thread out of place on him.
The perfect golden boy with the perfect golden cufflinks.
“I was born with a gold-coated spoon dangling from my lips, and I have an education most can’t fathom let alone acquire. Give me any Fortune 100, and I’d run it easily. But I don’t. Why not?”
“How drunk are you?”
I couldn’t fathom why he was telling me this.
“I’m not drunk,” he dismissed.
He took a step closer.
“That’s a cop-out, and you’re not copping out of this conversation.”
Another step.
“We’re the same, Ariana De Luca,” he accused, his voice so seductive, it was like he was calling me his lover. “We have the mafia last names—and don’t even deny that.”
It was the first time he’d ever said the word mafia around me, and he didn’t even give me time to marinate in the severity of that.
“We have the Ivy League education.”
Another step.
