Page 5 of Daddy's Rules

She laughs. “That’s okay, I’ve heard enough.” She stands and shoots me a saccharine smile.

“See you around, honey.” Her smile falls, but there’s still a glimmer in her eyes so I brace myself. “Oh, but maybe not.” She covers her mouth and her eyes squint in false sympathy. “I don’t use public transportation.” With that she leaves the room, leaving me practically gasping for oxygen.

Owen comes to my side, as does Mary. “You okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine.” I shoot a hard glare at him. “What does she mean about Denzi getting everything?”

He sighs and his shoulders fall. “If anything were to happen to you before your conditions are met or if you don’t meet those conditions...” He shoves a hand through his hair and his jaw clenches. “Yes, your inheritance goes to Denzi.”

“What?” Again, I can’t breathe. I can’t swallow. I’m dizzy with anger.

“It’s going to be okay,” he soothes. “I’ll help you.” He looks to the door. “I’ll make damn sure she doesn’t get your money, Jordy.”

“I’m not a child, Owen. I’m twenty-eight and I can take care of myself... I will take care of myself!” He doesn’t deserve my anger but I give it anyway. The only person I’m angry at is myself. Okay and my dad, but only because I was never good enough for him.

He’d made that clear since the paternity test showed I was his.

“Jordan, I need to explain your father’s wishes to you.” His expression is hard. His patience is wearing thin. I want to feel him take control, to stop me from spiraling but I turn away so he can’t see the need I have for his authoritative dominance. Dammit! I need to stand on my own two feet!

As I walk out of the house, my head high, I ignore Owen calling me. The cameras flash. I cover my face automatically. Before I do though, I catch a glimpse of Lucinda and Denzi talking to the worst paparazzi and vlogger of all. Kari-Anne Bowing and her cameraman. She’d been pointing out my flaws for the last ten years as if she has some vendetta against me. They come straight at me.

Kari-Anne has a hugely popular celebrity vlog, but freelances for the grocery aisle trash papers too. Her assistant, Greg, is short and thin, and seems to be able to squeeze into places most of the others can’t. They manage to cut through the crowd of other paparazzi and media to get to me first.

“Is it true, your father cut you off? Are your carefree days of spending Daddy’s money over?”

“How do you plan to support yourself?”

“Are you broke?”

“Where will you live?”

The questions pelt me like hail, stinging as I run to my car. Just as I climb into my seat and grab the door to slam it, Greg gets there. His camera jams into the door so I can’t close it.

“Why do you deserve this over us?” he asks hoarsely.

He doesn’t holler at me in a rush like the others. He speaks in a harsh whisper as if the question between us is private. It takes me a minute to shove him out of the way and shut the door because the words and his passionate, angry expression confuse me. Had I even heard him correctly?

I slam the lock button and lean back in my seat, taking a second to catch my breath, feeling safer hidden behind tinted glass. Greg’s video recorder is still rolling and Kari-Anne’s camera flashes brightly, but I know they can’t see me.

How would I support myself? I don’t even know the amount of the living allowance my father’s estate will pay me. Will I need to find a new place? Or is the condo still mine? How will I get a job? I certainly couldn’t act now. My father was the reason I got those roles. And I’d be laughed off the audition stage if I tried. I have the fashion sense of a gerbil and curves no designer will touch.

I rub my face and ignore the pounding on my windows. I know there’s three hundred bucks in my wallet and it’s practically burning a hole in my bag. I need to do something reckless, something rebellious.

I start the engine and peel out of the curved drive, leaving everything behind in my proverbial dust.

I’ve always wanted a tattoo.

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