Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 85443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Yes, I knew my father was a screw-up. Hell, no one in the world knew that fact more than me. But he was all I had in the whole world. He was the one who was always there for me. He was fancy cupcakes at three-forty-five in the morning on every single February third, the exact moment I came into the world, regardless of whether I had school or work in the morning or not. He was high-tea on a Tuesday afternoon when he won big at the craps tables and brought me to the fanciest tea place on the East coast. He was a hug and a hankie the night I came home after my first heartbreak, bawling my teenage eyes out, and the firm insistence that I was the most beautiful girl in the world inside and out and that if a guy couldn't see what a prize I was, he was a fool and he would be damned if his daughter wasted her time crying over a fool.
He was the sun to my moon.
So, yeah. He fucked up royally over the years. He let me down more times than I could count. But he also tried so freaking hard to make up for it that it actually made my heart hurt at times.
And when someone insulted him, regardless of how true the words may have been, my knee-jerk reaction was to pounce.
So with Mr. St.James, I wanted to skewer him, but I took a deep breath and forced my voice to be calm. "As such," I went on as if he hadn't spoken, "when I tell you that we will pay you back, you can trust me. Now, of course, I obviously don't have that kind of money to spare at the moment."
His gaze went slowly down my body, no doubt taking in my cheap shirt, moderately priced slacks, and the shoes I got on clearance. "Obviously."
God, he was a jerk. Not everyone had the privilege of living in some ridiculous mansion and wearing a ten thousand dollar watch.
"But we will find the money and we will pay you back in installments."
"I think I have made your choices here clear," he said with a shrug.
"What, exactly, could killing my father get you? You won't get your money back."
"It will send a message to anyone else who would think of welshing though, wouldn't it?"
"You'd rather make an example than recover your money?"
"You forget there was another option."
Right. Me. I was trying to pretend that part didn't exist.
"Yes. You'll have to explain that option further. Did you want me to like... work for you or something?"
"Or something."
Okay. If my father was like yelling at a brick wall, this guy was like yelling at a cement one.
Luckily for me, I had a lot of practice in patience.
"You can't have my daughter," my father said, his voice so forceful that I actually jumped. That was not my father. My father was all smiles and laughs and cheery tones. He was the light and warm to my dark and cold. That was why, despite all the crap he had put me through, I never gave up on him.
"So the decision is made," Mr. St. James said, giving him a small nod as he reached for the gun.
This literally could not be happening. This could not be my life. I could not be in some ridiculous mansion with the jackoff owner reaching for a gun to kill my father. No way in hell.
Before I even knew what I was doing, I flung my body in front of my father's.
"Well, you can't have his life," I said, my voice sounding very much like my teeth were clenched together because they were.
"You're not getting my daughter, St. James," my father insisted again, grabbing me and moving me away from him.
"What's to stop me from killing you and then taking her anyway?" Mr. St. James proposed, effectively shutting my father up. "Yeah, thought that would shut you up," he added and I had to curl my hands into fists at my side to keep myself from crawling up on his desk and clawing the skin off his face.
"St. James she's..." my father's voice sounded dipped in emotion and when I glanced over, his eyes were swimming. My father never cried. Never. Not once in my entire life.
"I won't hurt her, Mack," Mr. St. James said, sounding almost annoyed at my father's obvious distress. "Not in the way you're thinking anyway," he added and I felt my stomach flip.
Well, there was that at least.
"I'll do it," I said automatically. It was the only way. I wasn't going to lose my father; he was all I had in the world. Alright, so he wasn't the best role model and I spent a lot of my time as a kid worrying myself sick over the bills he never paid on time. But even when the house was a studio apartment with no lights and roaches in the sink, he filled it with so much love that I never wanted to be anywhere else. He was the only ever-present person in my life, the only person I could lean on when life felt too tough. I would not let the cold-hearted bastard in front of us take him from me.