Page 14 of The Worst Man

It was amazing how a person’s whole impression of someone could shift so dramatically in less than a day. It was difficult to fathom that this time yesterday I’d been packing my suitcase, dread pooling in my stomach at the thought of having to spend time with Hank outside of the faculty lounge. Life truly worked in mysterious ways.

“We’ll get to the money in a second,” I said, tabling that discussion for a moment, “but if your parents had some ridiculously archaic arranged marriage situation going on with either of those women, I need to know.”

Hank reached for my hand and tugged me closer. I fell against him, the blanket burrito making it difficult to remain sitting upright. Pulling me into his lap, he smiled down at me. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

“Not jealous, so much as trying to prepare myself. If I’m going to have some upper crust she devil coming after me, I need to prepare myself for battle.”

“Upper crust she devil?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with laughter. “Aren’t you being a tad dramatic?”

I shoved at his shoulder. “You can make fun of me all you want, but I know those women. They’ll smile to your face while they stick a knife in your back, and they’ll look perfect while doing it. They spend more on Botox than I do on my wardrobe.”

“You sound awfully convinced about the type of woman my parents wanted me to marry.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” I challenged, my chin lifted in quiet challenge.

He dropped a kiss to my nose and then quickly rolled me onto my back, his hard body pressing me down into the mattress. Propped up on his elbow above me, he brushed the hair off my forehead and kissed me again, his tongue slipping between my lips. Seemingly of their own volition, my arms lifted and found their way around his neck. My fingers stroked the hair at his nape as he took our kiss deeper. I arched my back, desperate for more.

Eventually, he dragged his lips from mine, a light chuckle escaping. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted, his eyes laced with fondness as they caressed a path over my face.

“Should I be worried?”

He shook his head. “No, Penelope hates me—”

“Like I hated you?”

He smiled and shook his head. “No. Not like you hated me. Penny and I have known each other all our lives, and she’s legitimately tried to kill me at least twice that I know about.”

“What?”

Hank chuckled. “The first time was when we were four and she pushed me into the pool at her family’s estate. I’d had a few swimming lessons by then so I was able to flail my way to the side of the pool where I hung on for dear life until my nanny jumped in to save me. Meanwhile, she just stood there laughing, like me gulping up great big heaving lungfuls of water was the funniest thing she’d ever seen. The second time she tried to kill me was back in high school. Apparently, while I was out on the football field getting bloodied and bruised, she was sitting under the bleachers drinking vodka out of a water bottle. She totaled her car on the drive home.”

“She drove you home from the game?” I attempted to make my voice sound as neutral as possible, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t wary of what Hank’s relationship with this woman was like.

While my family didn’t mingle in the same rarified air that his did, his world wasn’t a complete mystery to me either. There was a reason the uber wealthy made me nervous—I’d grown up surrounded by them. My father had been the headmaster at an elite private boarding school in Massachusetts, which my brothers and I had attended for free. I knew girls like Penelope, and if past experience had taught me anything, it was that they were quick to anger and long to forget. If she thought she had a claim on Hank in any capacity, I needed to prepare myself for some backlash. You didn’t just up and marry the heir to a vast fortune and not expect some people to try and make things difficult for you … especially if you came from a different socioeconomic background. I’d been called an interloper and a usurper more times than I cared to count.

“To answer the question you haven’t actually asked, yes, she was my girlfriend … for lack of a better word.”

“You mean you don’t know if you were dating?”

Hank’s cheeks reddened and his gaze darted to the other side of the room. He scratched the side of his cheek, a look of unease etching his features. “So, um ...”

“Let me guess,” I said, jumping in to answer my own question. He was clearly uncomfortable with telling me what I already knew. “You spent your entire high school career passing partners around your circle of friends”

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it. How’d you know?”

“I went to Bradenton Prep, and we had a few couples just like that. It was hard to keep track of who they might have been with on any given week. I think one of them actually ended up getting married, but otherwise, it was a merry-go-round of dicks and vaginas.”

Hank barked out a laugh. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“What about Juliana?” I asked, curious to hear how she fit into his life.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about Juliana. She’s a lesbian.”

“Then why did your parents want you to marry her?”

“Because they don’t know. Or rather, they don’t want to know. Everyone likes to pretend that her roommate Cecilia is just a really good friend. Meanwhile, they live in a one bedroom loft together in Manhattan. It’s not that hard to piece it together.”

“Are you close with her?” I twined my arms around his neck, happy to be learning so much about his life, even if the topic was about potential roadblocks in our relationship.

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