Page 35 of The Bad Boy Rule

A shrill bolt of excitement rolls down my spine at the fact that I’m finally going to come face-to-face with the motherfucker who’s responsible for the fucked-up mess that’s been my life.

I’m finally going to look him in the eye, shake his hand that’s covered in the metaphorical blood of my family… all while he has no idea that I’m about to blow up his entire fucking life.

That I’m going to fuck his daughter, taking her precious little virtue, and he’s got to live with the fact that a trashy piece of shit like me is the one that dirtied her up.

He’ll never see it coming until it’s too late. Until I’ve dirtied her all up and ruined her.

Edward Rousseau is going to pay for what he’s done, one way or another.

“Looks like we’re up,” I mutter quietly.

Her gaze whips to mine, and I smirk as I reach between us and grab her free hand, the one not currently clutching the champagne glass so tightly I’m worried she might actually break it, and lace my fingers in hers.

Her palm is warm and slightly clammy, a sign that she’s nervous as fuck about tonight. Even more than she wants to let on to me.

It’s a conundrum. How she’s parading me around as her fake boyfriend to piss off her dad, to stick it to him, yet clearly careswhat he thinks. For someone who tries so hard to pretend she doesn’t give a shit when it comes to him, her body betrays her.

It’s the one thing I can’t figure out, the one thing I can’t put my finger on.

Why?

Why the sudden rebellion when it’s obvious she’s never done a thing wrong in her entire fucking life.

What changed? What pushed her to using me as her way of getting back at her father?

Her eyes move down to where our hands are clasped together, and I watch her throat bob as she swallows roughly.

“Just… follow my lead,” she finally says before turning up her glass and draining the last of her champagne in one swallow, then placing it onto a nearby table. Her exhale is unsteady as she blows out a breath, then begins to drag me through the crowded room.

I can feel how nervous she is, and it makes me wonder if she knows who her fatherreallyis… would she still feel the same way about him? Would she still care about what he thinks, knowing all of the fucked-up shit he’s gone to lengths to hide from her?

Something tells me… no, she wouldn’t.

And I can’t wait to see it all fucking fall apart.

A few of the people we pass lift their glasses and speak to Lennon as we pass, but she doesn’t falter, continuing on a straight path to the other side of the room.

This is her element, somewhere I’m sure she’s been a thousand times before now, but somehow, it still feels like she doesn’t fit. Not all the way. Not the way the others do.

And that surprises me. Maybe she’s just as much a wolf in sheep’s clothing as I am… or maybe Lennon Rousseau is something that I’ve yet to even discover.

We stop a few feet from her father, who hasn’t noticed his daughter is even standing in front of him, lost in conversation with a tall guy wearing a fucking overcoat like some type of English lord.

I feel her hand trembling in mine, her nerves ramping up, so I step closer, dipping my head to her ear. “Exactly how much of an asshole do you want me to be? Just so we’re clear?”

Jade-green pools meet mine. “Oh, you know… just be yournormalself.”

Yeah, she has no fucking clue.

I nod just as her father glances up and sees her for the first time, his eyes widening slightly before his well-practiced mask drops back in place. He bends slightly, whispering something in the ear of the blonde standing beside him, who I assume is Lennon’s mother. She glances up, eyes flicking between us as she nods, pasting on a smile that feels as fake as she looks.

Showtime, Golden Girl.

“Lennon, sweetheart, I’m so glad you were able to make it,” he says, walking up and reaching for her, placing an arm around her shoulder.

It feels… forced from the outside looking in. She looks stiff and honestly pretty fucking uncomfortable, and my head goes back towhy?

Hmmm. Maybe this shit with her father is a lot messier than I thought.

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