Page 84 of Dust Storm

“Miss Cass?”

The sound of Bree’s voice made my heart stop.Why was she calling me? I didn’t even know she had my number.

“Bree?”

Christian went stiff and reached for the phone, but I swatted him away.

“I’m sorry, I tried calling my dad, and grandma, and Aunt Becks, but no one’s answering their phones.”

“Hold on, I’m with your father right now. Here he is.”

Christian nearly took my hand off when he grabbed the phone. “Baby, what’s the matter? Are you hurt? Sick?”

He paused, the look of concern instantly marring to frustration.

Or at least his watered down version of frustration.It was barely a twitch of his eye, but I caught it this time.

He sighed. “It’ll probably be two hours before I can get home to get you a change of clothes and then drive back to the school. Are you sure they won’t let you just go back to class? You’ll miss most of the day waiting for me.”

“What happened?” I hissed.

Christian covered the speaker with his hand. “She got dress-coded by the principal, who apparently has it out for her.”

“Did she actually break the dress code?”

“Not technically. It’s just how they’re interpreting it.”

I grabbed the phone back. “Sit tight. Do not say anything until we get there.”

“What?”

“Why did you speak?” I snapped as I yanked open the truck door. “Did I not just tell you to shut the fuck up?”

“Cassandra,” Christian hissed.

I paid him no mind. “Sit there. Think about something boring. Don’t smile. Don’t frown. Don’t let them smell your fear. Admit nothing and shut your mouth. We’ll be there in?—”

“Ten minutes,” Christian said as he hopped in and cranked the engine.

“Ten minutes. Don’t speak.”

Silence.

“Excellent.” And with that, I hung up.

“For the hundredth time, youcannottalk to my children that way,” he clipped as he strangled the steering wheel.

“I’m handling the situation, Christian. It’s what I do.” I pulled down the visor and checked my lipstick in the mirror. “You don’t like it? Well, too damn bad. Fire me.”

“She’s a child,” he said. “You can’t treat her like she’s… Like she’s one of the upper-crust socialites you have to ‘contain.’”

I turned on him. “Your daughter is getting bullied by anadult. Celebrity or not, assholes are assholes.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do I even want to know what you’re about to do?”

I smirked. “I’m about to be the bigger asshole.”

18

---