He nods. “So are her parents. The Baylors aren’t as intense as our dads.”
“Intense,” I scoff. “That’s one way to put it.”
“How would you put it then?”
“Judgmental assholes.”
George snorts and smooths a smile away with his fingers. Then he frowns and turns his full attention on me, but his shades hide his eyes.
“Do you accept any help from your dad?”
I bristle and bite back the response pushing to get past my teeth.
He’d have to offer help for me to accept it.
Instead, I opt for the simple, and just as accurate, “No.”
He seems to chew this over. “Do you plan to?”
We’re back to the trust fund again.
“Would you judge me if I did?” I wonder out loud before I can think better of it. I’m curious if George would consider me petulant—a hypocrite—if I insulted Karl and then accepted millions from him in a few months.
“No.” He sounds sincere, if distant.
What I would do doesn’t really matter because the world will reverse its rotation before Karl Newton offers me a penny. Still, I want my answer in the universe. Because I know what it is.
“I don’t. Plan to, that is. I don’t want a cent of his money.”
Darla is right, I realize. I do have too much pride. Because if Karl Newton had a sudden change of heart and decided to write me a check, that payoff could alleviate a lot of stress in my life.
But it would make me feel dirty, too, in a way that accepting Shawn’s money didn’t. It would feel like strings knotted around my limbs leading back to a handle Karl could tug and manipulate until I danced like a puppet for the hateful man.
Still, it doesn’t matter. The option isn’t there, and it never will be.
“You’re an impressive person, Beth Lundberg,” George says with a small smile.
I shrug, embarrassment at the undeserved compliment heating my cheeks. “Not really.”
Now George frowns. “Yes. You are.”
Oh great. We’re back to arguing. At least with him I don’t have the urge to give in and agree to keep him content.
“I’m a decent waitress. Maybe one day I’ll be a pilot. And I have no money. That might be interesting to someone with a boring life, but it’s not impressive.”
“A job and a bank account?” George drags a frustrated hand over his skull. “That’s…I’m not talking about what you do, Beth. I’m talking about who you are.”
“You think you know who I am?”
He doesn’t. Because if he knew, the last word he’d use is “impressive.”
The first one is “liar.”
“Not all of you, no.” His voice deepens. “But sometimes I think I might see more than you realize.”
I roll my eyes. “I bet. How about we see some sky while it’s still light out?”
George’s focus stays on me for a long moment but then he nods and turns back to the plane.
