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“Don’t call me that.”
“Oh no. You don’t like that? It seemed fitting. I mean, who else was left an inheritance so large she can buy a small country?”
“I don’t think I can buy a small country,” she mutters.
“Oh . . .” I pretend to sound sorry, drawing a hand to my chest. “Twenty-two mil is not enough for you . . . your highness.”
“That is not what I meant, and you know it. I just meant—”
“I think you mistake me for someone who gives a fuck.”
“What I am trying to say is—”
“Again, doesn’t matter. All that matters is you’re in my house, and you need to leave.”
“What? Are you serious? I can’t leave. Do you know what time it is?”
“It’s 3:02 a.m. I’m sure you can crash on your friend’s couch. What’s her name again? Oh, yeah, Heather.”
Her eyes widen. I also don’t miss the way her jaw trembles. “How do you know her name?”
I won’t dignify the question with a response.
She looks pathetic.
Huddled on the floor like a little mouse.
As if she can hear my thoughts, she lowers her hand, straightens her sweatshirt, and stands.
Rising to her full height.
She’s still smaller than I first thought. Now barefoot, I peg her at five foot three.
I’m still almost a full foot taller at six-two.
“I will see you out,” I offer, though it’s more like a warning.
Her arms cross over her chest. “I’m not leaving.”
“What part of ‘you are trespassing in my house’ did you not understand?”
“All of it, I guess. But you are the one not understanding. It’s three o’clock in the morning. You will not tell me to go out on the street at night.”
“You have two choices.” I hold up a finger. “Stay and get arrested.” I hold up a second finger. “Or leave.” I point the two fingers at the door, highlighting her only real option, though watching her get arrested could become a fun memory.
Her eyes narrow, and she rights herself even further.
“I can’t believe you’re his son. You’re nothing like him.”
“What do you know about my father? You think he was a saint,” I grit out. “He was a monster.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Never compare me to that man.”
She shrugs. “Feels the same right now.”
“I don’t care what you think of the great Ronald Aldridge. The real Ronald sold his daughter to the Russian mob.”
