Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 91820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I so did not see this coming. I thought she might be a bit weird about it. But not mad.
She folds her arms over her chest. “Well, you are being one.”
“Can I ask … why are you mad?”
Her eyes fix on mine. “Because I told you all of my important shit. About my mum and Tim and everything. And you clearly told me nothing of importance.”
“You know that’s not true.” Now, I’m mad.
“I know you told me about your mom.” She bites her lip and looks away. “But you kept from me who your dad was. I wondered why you would clam up whenever I asked about your dad. I just figured you two weren’t close.”
I step up to her and take her chin in my hand, forcing her eyes to mine. “We’re not close. Yes, he’s the president. And, yes, he’s my dad. The former, he’s excellent at. The latter, not so much.”
He was an absent father and a cheating dirtbag of a husband to my mom up until the day she died, but that’s not something Dillon needs to know.
Those gorgeous eyes blink up at me. I brush my thumb over her cheek.
“Him being the president has nothing to do with who I am.”
“But it does have an impact on your life, I’m guessing.”
“Sometimes.” Most of the fucking time.
“And you don’t live in the White House, right? Because you said you live in Baltimore—unless that was a lie.” Her eyes narrow. “Because if it was a lie and you do live there, I’m telling you right now, I’m not staying in the White House.”
I bark out a laugh. “Most people would kill to go stay in the White House.”
“Well, I wouldn’t. I’m sure it’s amazing and everything. It’d be a really nice place to visit. Like Buckingham Palace. But stay there? Nah, thanks. I wouldn’t be able to cope with the pressure. I mean, you’d have to look good and dress nice twenty-four/seven. And then there’d be all those agents there, walking around with guns. I’d never be able to relax. No, when I’m home, I just like to chill and wear my PJs.”
“Sorry to tell you this, but my apartment has a no-clothes policy.”
Her brow lifts. “That right?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Do you have security? What are they called?”
“I talk about nakedness. And you ask about security. Should I be worried, Double D?”
She gives me an unamused look.
“They’re called Secret Service agents, and yeah, I do.”
Her eyes scan the area, like she’s expecting someone to leap out of the water.
“But not here. I don’t technically have to have them by law. Because I’m an adult, it’s my choice. But I have them back home because there are some nutjobs with guns and being the president’s son makes me a target. They’re not on my ass all the time. They stay at a safe distance, so I can still have some sort of normality in my life. But I came here alone without them. I just needed a break.”
“From?”
I sigh and drop my hand from her face. “There was a story in the press. It broke the week before I came here.”
“What story? I didn’t see anything. But then again, I was caught up in crying into my wine bottle over my mum sleeping with my fiancé, so there is that.”
I stare at her in wonder as to how anyone could hurt her. You could. You are an Oakley after all. Hurting women is in your DNA.
“You didn’t kill someone, did you? I can forgive anything but that. Unless they deserved it. Oh, and hurting animals. I hate people who hurt animals.”
“No to the murder. And I love animals.” I exhale. “It was stupid. Just a short video clip from when I was back in my senior year of high school. I was seventeen and still messed up over my mom’s death and angry with the world. I thought I knew it all. My dad was a senator then. Anyway, I was filmed snorting coke off the stomach of some chick I went to high school with. The clip just surfaced now. Some idiot had probably discovered they had it and sold it for big bucks. My dad is running for reelection, so he was pissed off. Not that I give a shit what he thinks. But I got heat from my coach and team bosses. It’s not a good look for them when one of their players is on the news for snorting coke at a party when he was a teenager. They didn’t suspend me.” Not that they would. The son of the president brings in way too much revenue for them to lose. “But we’re in the off-season at the moment, so they told me to lay low. I wanted to get away. So, I booked a plane ticket here.” And I’m so fucking glad that I did.