Page 84 of My Bossy Billionaire Attorney

I look around. A bar. A bar somewhere. With a lot of people and a bartender friendly enough to keep refilling my glass.

“Wouldn’t you like to know? If I tell you, what are you going to do about it?”

“You’re the reason I was going to marry Brandon and that I’m now being accused of murder! If you had just let me be. If you didn’t push me to marry him because he was the “best I could get”, then I wouldn’t be in this mess! You’re the reason my life is shit!”

My chest heaves as finally, after a decade or so, I finally get the words out.

The things I could never tell my father before. I swallowed my emotions each time his words cut through me like a knife.

“Where is Peter?”

“How should I know where your perfect son is?” I sneer.

I take a swig from the shot glass in front of me.

“I’m sure you can call him,” he says

“I’ll get him to come pick you up. Tell me where you are.” He continues calmly.

“You don’t care.” Tears roll down my cheeks. “You never did. You’d rather someone else take responsibility for your disgrace of a daughter.”

“I knew from a young age that if I was going to be a failure, you would distance yourself. And now have I failed? Have I failed, Daddy? Look, I even succeeded in getting myself implicated as a murderer.”

I hear his sigh from the other end.

“You have not disappointed me, Savannah. I only pushed you because I wanted you to be the best.”

I wipe the tears from my face, sniffing.

“And the only way you could do it was by putting me down? Telling me that if I couldn’t get into the best law schools, then I shouldn’t bother applying to any?” I sniff.

“Never caring about my grades? Only praising Peter? Was that the only way you could teach me to be the best?”

“I did what I had to do,” he admits.

His voice is stern. Unremorseful.

And then I realize that calling him was a mistake.

“Right,” I say, some of my inebriation leaves me with the knowledge of my mistake. “And I’m doing what I have to do. Before you disown me, I’ll do it for you.”

“I no longer have a family. From today on, you and your wife are dead to me.”

I end the call.

“Family issues?”

“I’m going to prison,” I blurt out.

“Cool,” the bartender responds.

“What are you doing here?” A voice behind me asks.

I turn around to see Alice standing a few feet away with her hands thrust on her hips.

“Alice!”

She marches up to me. “What are you doing, Savannah?”

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