Page 32 of Faux Real
I sigh. “Why do I have to go? Clearly, this event means a lot to you so why would you risk having me muck it up? Hmm?”
“Malcolm Redford’s platform is built on the importance of family values,” he explains. “Elizabeth won’t be in town to attend, so, unfortunately, I am left with no other choice but you. We need to show the donors that we are a united front. Malcolm’s son will also be there. I believe you go to school together.”
“Redford?” Shit, I remember mum mentioning that name but I hadn’t put two and two together. “What’s his son’s name?”
“Sawyer.”
Are you kidding me? My granddad is supporting Sawyer’s father’s run for congress? Unbelievable.
“Why are you interested in politics all of a sudden?” I ask. “Real estate development a bit slow these days?”
“I do not need to explain myself to you,” he states. “I just need you to show up, smile for the cameras, andnottalk. Can you do that for me?”
“It seems as though I don’t have a choice,” I mutter begrudgingly. “You can tell yourassistantto email me the details. I’ll be there.”
“Thank you,” Granddad sighs. “I suppose you may bring a friend if you would like.”
I snort. “A friend? What friend? I don’t know anyone.”
“Well, you have two weeks tomakea friend,” he says in a distant tone. Oh, he is no longer interested in this conversation apparently. “Since you attend Hilton, I’m confident whoever you bring will be of the proper breeding.”
I hate that term.
“Maybe I’ll bring a mutt,” I quip. “A littleShitZhu crossbreed?”
“I am hanging up now, Oliver,” he says. “I will see you on the 7th. Veronica will ship you someappropriateattire later this week.”
“Not a fan of my ‘72 Zeppelin tour shirt?” I joke. “It was a good year for the lads.”
“Goodbye, Oliver.”
“Farewell, dear Granddad,” I say and hang up, reaching for my headphones.Fucking old geezer.
Family values? He wants to showcase hisfamily values?What a joke. Everything about this family is a lie. A polished, shiny load of shit. Nothing’s authentic. Everything’s a ruse.
And I’m just as guilty for going along with Kennedy’s sham.
Fake. Everything is fake.
Taking several deep breaths, I close the curtains and turn up my music, eventually falling into a dreamless sleep I wish would last for years.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Bugger off,” I mutter, pulling the covers over my head, blinding light shining through the curtains. What the fuck? What time is it? What day is it? What planet am I on?
“Oliver! It’s me. Open the door. I have your—” Kennedy pauses. “Thing.”
Thing? Oh.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stretch out my arms, my eyes darting to my uniform balled up on the floor. What? When did I change? And where the hell is Clifford? Is it Saturday? God, I’m so confused right now.
“Oliver!”
“Coming!” I groan, checking the time on my phone. Christ! It’s already ten in the morning? I slept for seventeen hours? Is that even humanly possible? I drag my feet to the door and turn the handle, yawning as it opens. Kennedy’s dressed in workout gear: black leggings, a hoodie, and a verytightsports bra. Almosttootight. “Well, let’s have it.” I hold out my hand, catching the gleam of sweat on her forehead. “Key?”
“Uh—” Kennedy stutters, her jumpy gaze raking over my shirtless body, the apples of her cheeks turning a rosy hue, her mouth slightly agape. “I—”
“Myeyesare up here, love,” I smirk, opening the door wider to give her a better view. I’m a generous soul. It’s the Christian in me. Kennedy doesn’t register what I’m saying, her gaze zoned in on my chest. God, she’s shameless. “Would you like a photograph so you can gawk in private?”
