Page 230 of Mad Girl

Willoughby’s expression softened. He finally sat down and pulled me in his lap. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

I couldn’t tell him about my dad and the Harrises—what if he talked?—so I told him about my mom. How I’d hoped the mystery lady watching our house had actually been her, coming back for me. I told him how, with the one-year anniversary coming up, I kept thinking about what had happened with Greer at his Halloween party. Because I had been thinking about it—quite a lot, actually—before Bree told me about our parents and the shock of that had taken precedence over everything else.

We didn’t have sex, obviously. The pain stuff had killed the mood.

When I left, I spotted my dad outside, leaning against the black sedan, arms crossed over a black suit and bright blue tie. Hal sat behind the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.

“How long have you been out here?” I asked through clenched teeth.

“A couple hours now,” he said, opening the back door. He gestured at the back seat. “Get in the car.”

I backed up on the sidewalk. “No.”

“Get in the car. Right now.” He stepped forward. “Or I’ll make you.”

I laughed, glancing down at his feet. “In those shoes?”

Nic looked like he would, Italian leather Oxfords be damned. Over his shoulder, I spotted Hal stepping out of the car, the hefty bulk of him—especially in black—enough to scare most people into submission.

Me, though? I’d never had a reason to fear Hal, but something in the determined set of his shoulders—in the firm set of his square jaw—made me halt on the sidewalk with a racing heart that day.

“Come on, Ell,” he said, lowering his sunglasses and stepping onto the sidewalk. “Get in the car.”

Hal meant business, his brown eyes turning dark, no longer exuding warmth and kindness like they usually did. This man could easily throw me over his shoulder and toss me into the car, and I wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing to stop him. Except maybe scream.

Would Hal do that? Would he really come after me?

I backed up, testing him.

With a look of determination, Hal stepped forward.

He would, I realized. If Nic told him to, he’d snatch me up and force me into that car in an instant.

A young girl, probably nine or ten, came skipping down the sidewalk, ushered along by an older, sour-faced woman I took for the nanny—they all had the same world-worn look about them. Curiosity prompted the girl’s dark brown eyes to snag on mine, and I knew: if I ran, I’d traumatize this happy kid by letting her witness a kidnapping in broad daylight. So I didn’t run.

Call it my good deed of the day.

Shoving past Nic, I climbed across the tan leather back seat and pressed myself against the opposite side of the car. I waited until he’d pulled the door closed to say, “Pretty sure there’s a law saying you can’t abduct people off the street.”

“You’re my daughter. That law doesn’t apply here.”

“I’m an adult, and you just coerced me into this car. You threatened me. Legally, you can’t order me around anymore, and I’m under no obligation to do what you say. If I want to go to my hookup buddy’s house, I can. If I want to screw ten different guys in the same week and have the word slut proudly tattooed across my side, I can. If I want to move out tomorrow and never come back, I fucking can.”

Nic’s expression remained calm during my little tirade, only slightly faltering at ten different guys and slut. “With what resources?” he asked. “You don’t have a job. Or money of your own. Or anywhere to go.”

“Willoughby has a generous trust fund and plenty of room in his house.”

“Willoughby’s fucking terrified of crossing me,” Nic said with a cocksure grin. “Ask me how I know. I dare you.”

“I could stay at Michael’s.”

“Michael’s at the mercy of his parents—and me. I own the building he lives in. One misstep, and his apartment’s gone. Try again.”

“Tinsley,” I said, but her name left my mouth shaky and unsure. “Her mom would put me up for a while if I asked her to.”

While Nic considered me, he toyed with one of his cuff links, a pair of silver knots John had gifted him a few Christmases before you’d arrived. Come to think of it, a knot symbolized commitment, an unbreakable bond, or even love. And my dad wore those knots with every suit. When he wasn’t wearing them, they sat in a gold-embossed dish on his nightstand.

Those damn cuff links should’ve been another clue.