“Get out of here. We’ll meet at eight a.m. sharp,” my father declares, gesturing to the door.
Well, that won’t work.
“I have class at eight.”
“Tomorrow, you don’t. Have someone take notes for you.” He shoos my interests away with a wave of his hand, no care on his face.
I will my mouth to agree and tell him that of course I’ll miss class for the benefit of the family. I always default to obey his word. But I only find silence, my lips shut.
“Dean, it’s one class. You’ll be fine. This is far more important.” He pushes to his feet behind his desk.
“Yeah.” I stand and turn, seeing the office door opening to reveal Adrianna Chamberlain, the late Patrick Chamberlain’s widow.
“Hi, Dean,” she greets me kindly.
Nodding at her, I stride past without stopping to exchange meaningless pleasantries, pulling the door shut on my way out, with her stowed away inside.
Pain erupts in my palm, and I suck in a sharp breath.
What the hell?
As I open my fist, I realize just how tightly I had it clenched, seeing bleeding half-moons carved into my skin. The physical representation of my anger opens the floodgates of rage I didn’t know was coursing through me.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end at the sound of Adrianna’s laugh in the office.
Blinking slowly, I try to calm my heart and my breathing.
You’re overstimulated, stressed out, and anxious. Take a deep breath, Dean.
But then I hear her giggle again, and the thought of my father in there, flirting with another woman only months after burying my mother, makes me feel more murderous than I’d like to admit.
My feet are moving, taking me far and fast from his office, my stomach churning. I rush through the grand foyer, across the marble floor, trying to get to the kitchen as soon as possible.
I need water. A cold rag. Something, anything, to make this feeling go away.
It’s like my skin is desperate to crawl away from my body, my stomach ready to upheave everything I’ve eaten today.
Passing through one of the sitting rooms, I round the corner to the kitchen, nearly sprinting at this point.
Adrianna’s laughter continuously echoes in my mind, drowning everything else out.
Suddenly, I crash straight into one of the staff members, and the stack of towels in her arms goes flying.
Fuck.
She sways, and I instantly steady her.
“Sorry!”
Ms. Ravi chuckles, finding real amusement in the run-in. “Not a problem, Mr. Dean. You are quite all right.”
Crouching down, I hastily gather the unfolded towels for her, doing my best to return them to some semblance of a neat stack, like before. But I fail miserably, earning even more laughter from the staff director, Ms. Ravi.
Her joy tugs at the corners of my lips, and my shoulders soften ever so slightly.
“Please don’t fuss. I didn’t like these towel folds. I was going to redo them anyway.”
She flashes me a cheeky smile, and mine finally breaks free, a burst of dopamine hitting my system.
