Claire pretended to swoon in shock, hand pressed dramatically to her forehead. “Oh, they’d be shocked! They’d wonder why I wasn’t in rehab or at the spa like all the other little princesses,” she spat.
“Maybe you could use some time at rehab—if that’s what they call it these days. Don’t be so high and mighty just because your drug of choice is sugar.”
Claire balled her fists and raised her round chin high. Since her mother’s death when she was sixteen, her fatherhad constantly tried to mold her into something more svelte and conventionally attractive, something that would compare to the trophy wives and girlfriends that were paraded around at business dinners. That included trying to shame her into attending fat camp, while also moaning about how much it would cost to send her. “Maybe I eat my feelings more than I should because there’s no other outlet! God knows I can’t talk to my father!”
That did it. Claire could see the anger in him boil over. His lined, hard face turned a burst-berry red. “The only check you’ll ever see from me is from a salary you’ve earned. And since my ‘temple’ means so little to you, I’ll be happy to start you off at a receptionist position in a branch office, making thirty thousand a year! Good luck making rent in this city with that kind of money! Or did you expect to keep living in the penthouse with Daddy and have him take care of that little problem, too?”
For a second, Claire was speechless. Then she drew herself up to her full five foot, three-inch height and gave her father the same kind of look he had been giving her. Disdainful. Contemptuous. Downright finished. “I quit.”
Her father laughed and then stopped to sneer, “You didn't even take a job yet, pumpkin.”
“I quitthis.” Claire stamped her foot and gestured to the room around her. “I quit all of this! I’m done being under your thumb. I quit being one of your investments. I'm only useful to you as a future employee. You only paid for my education because you were sure that you'd reap the benefits. It had nothing to do with me being prepared to run my own restaurant or bakery. It had nothing to do with being a parent who makes sure that their child succeeds and develops their own dreams and personality. It had nothing to do with watching your kids become independent.”
You're a fine one to talk about independence! I paid for your degree, and now you want me to pay for the next one!”
“I won't make that mistake again.” Claire swallowed. “I don’t need you to pay. I don't need you to put a roof over my head, either.”
Langdon’s sneer vanished. Something cold and dead traveled from his eyes across his face. “Well then, I guess I'll be seeing you on Skid Row.”
“I don't think you'll be seeing me at all, Dad.” Claire gave him a pitying look. “If you ever decide that we can have a relationship that's not based on money, give me a call. I’ll give your secretary my new number.”
“You’ll be back in a week!’
She didn’t look back.
Chapter 2: How It’s Going
How was your morning?
Mine sucked.
But the rest of the day is going to be better. That’s not mindless optimism. Growing up in the same house as Luke Langdon has taught me a lot of valuable lessons.
I know how to execute a plan of attack—whether the target is starting a new life or pulling strings for a hostile takeover.
Today, my father proved that he’s an asshole, not just to random people, or people clinging to the lower rungs of his corporate ladder. No, he’s even a jerk to me, his only daughter.
I knew it was coming. He’s been busy, distant, and disapproving my whole life, but without my mother around to act as a buffer, he became a lot worse. My mom used to yank him into the position of husband and father for a few stolen hours at a time.
That hasn’t happened in almost eight years. I’ve tried to be patient. I know he was a crappy husband, but he really did love her. I try to remind myself of that when he treats me like a hired lackey or fails to contact me for a whole semester.
Telling me it was his way or no way snapped something in me.
When I left my dad’s office, I did two things. First, I almost fainted from the heat. It’s ninety degrees in New York! It’s the middle of August, but yes, I was wearing a stupid fall sweater with coppery autumn eyeshadow to match. Why was I wearing this Pumpkin Spice ensemble, you ask? Because I had known I would be spending several hours in my father’s personal office,which is chilly no matter the season. Dad—I can’t even call him that right now—Luke Langdon, corporate shark and jerkface, keeps the thermostat set to precisely 61 degrees. He likes the surroundings to match his cold attitude when people come to ask for money.
So, after almost fainting, I moved on to item two. I went to the bank and pulled out most of my savings, checking, and my CDs. Yeah, despite the fact that I’m the kid of a millionaire, that’s all the money I have access to. Everything else is in his pockets or the trust my mother set up for me. I can access a few hundred thousand dollars when I turn twenty-five (next year), but by then, I’m sure Double L will have figured out a way to screw me out of that, too.
I could be angry about that, but right now I’m so effing angry about everything else. Being focused on money just makes me more like him, and that kills me.
Another thing I’ve learned from living with him—shove emotions into boxes and ignore them. He goes to the office. I go to the kitchen.
As I take the elevator up to the penthouse I share with my father (if he bothers to leave the office pull-out couch, private bathroom, and closet full of “spare suits”), I realize that focusing on the money isn’t going to help, and I don’t have time to “Angry-Bake.” Focusing on the problem and executing the solution is what’s going to help. Because by God, I’ve put off my dream since I was seventeen and was told I could only apply to hand-selected colleges that offered a business degree. I’m not going to wait another second to make up for lost time.
The money I put into my new checking account—which only I can control—came to just over ten thousand dollars, which is a fortune to many people. To the Langdons, it’s a pittance.
I grind my back teeth together. Time to burst that stupid, rich girl bubble. I never liked it anyway.
“The money doesn’t matter. People make it to the top starting with nothing. I can do this. I need a cheaper place to live. A cheaper school to attend. Most importantly, I have to be out of here by the timehegets home.”
