Page 11 of Mask and the Magnolia

I have to, though. If I don’t, I’m not sure I’ll make it to twenty eight.

Scrubbing my hands over my face, I sigh and look up into those neon teal eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this, Evie.”

“You can.” She gives me another understanding smile as she forces me to my feet and directs me into the hall toward the bathroom. “You have to. For your sake, and mine. If you can break the cycle, if you can change your fate, then it gives me hope that I’ll be able to do the same. Neither of us deserve the lives we lived up until this point, and I want to see both of us do something about it.”

She’s so much more optimistic than I am.

And once again, she’s right.

There might be one rather large, glaring difference in what’s expected of us, but everything else is the same, and until we figure out how to get Eve out of her contract, she’s unconditionally and loudly supporting me, breaking mine.

“My ride is here,” she says with an annoyed edge to her tone. “Shower, eat, don’t forget to take your blockers.” My best friend gives me a hug, squeezing tightly for a second before she lets go so she can sprint down the hall. “Text me every second, and call me as soon as you leave the Dean’s office.”

Then I’m alone.

Alone and getting more anxious by the second because the first half of today is going to epically suck, and I can only hope the rest of it doesn’t.

I’d really hate to have all the wind knocked out of my sails twice in a twenty four hour period, but it’s entirely possible, and I have to be ready for it.

Standingin front of my father’s secretary, having the bitch who’s younger than me stares me down as if I’m lower than the dirt on her shoes, I feel like I’m making a mistake.

I know I’m not, there’s no way any of this could be a mistake, but I’m not standing here as Magnolia Reynolds, puppet on a string, and the last hope of Dean Byron Reynolds and his bloodline. No, I’m standing here as Magnolia Reynolds, legacy reject and black sheep of the family, a female and omega who all but destroyed her father’s hope for a future that kept his name synonymous with fortune and power.

My dad’s secretary is staring at me like I’m a fuckup, and the fact that she’s right has me questioning everything I’m about to do.

“The Dean will see you now.” She hangs up the phone on her desk and gives me a sarcastic smile as she presses the button that unlocks his office door.

Taking a deep breath, I steel my spine, nod at the toddler who thinks she’s hot shit for sleeping with my dad, then march myself in front of the one man firing squad.

“I see,” my father says as he waves me in then holds up a finger for me to stay silent. “That is rather unfortunate. Losing that funding could hurt our plans for expansion, unless of course, there’s someone else who’ll be in charge of the family accounts?”

I walk toward the desk, stopping once I feel like I’m close enough to attempt to be respectful but far enough to make a quick exit when the Dean gets loud. I fold my hands behind my back, nervously twisting my fingers then quickly bring my hands in front of me to smooth out my skirt.

Stop that.

I can practically hear Evie telling me I need to stop with the nervous tells. No fidgeting, no breaking eye contact, keep my head held high. Whatever my father has to say about everything I did in his absence doesn’t matter, and I have to remember why I’m doing any of it.

With my chin defiantly in the air, I glance around the office, my gaze moving over the finished product of his remodel that came via a later in life, midlife crisis.

Sleek. Sharp. Cold.

The new furniture is all white with shiny metal embellishments, the walls are a dingy gray with white spackle, all of the artwork is terrible, modern abstract, the carpet looks like concrete, and oh my god it looks like a hospital in here.

My father replicatedhishospital, right down to the large, skinny windows set two feet apart.

I bet he has no idea, either.

“Magnolia, what the hell are you wearing?”

My eyes snap to his as he barks his question, my stomach flipping, but I manage not to jump. “It’s new.”

“It’s ridiculous,” my father says as I straighten out the front of my oversized sweater. “You look like a bum, and the way the collar is falling off one shoulder? It’s just like the slutty underclassman. I’m not sure there’s a word to describe whatever look you’re going for.”

Slutty bums is the new look, didn’t you hear?“I’m not going for anything. This is comfortable, I think it looks nice, and it’s?—“

“When did you do that to your face?” Dad narrows his eyes, clearly focused on my nose before his stare starts moving over me from head to toe, and I can see each time he stops on something else that lights his ass on fire. “Tattoos. Fishnet stockings, combat boots? This won’t do, Magnolia. You cannot, no, youwill notwalk through my hospital looking like a gothic whore, and?—“

“I won’t,” I say quietly at first before I clear my throat and force myself to find my voice. “I won’t be walking through Reynolds Memorial at all, actually.”

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