Page 72 of Interning For A Billionaire

“Can we talk?” he begged me.

“About what?” I asked.

“About us!” he wailed.

“There is no us. There hasn’t been an us for months. I keep telling you, stop calling me, stop coming to see me. This has gone too far.”

“No!” he cried out. “I can’t let you go! I can’t live without you!”

“You can and you will,” I said firmly. “If you keep bothering me, I will go to the police.”

I walked off quickly, not looking back. My pulse was racing, and I felt a little disconcerted. I was seeing a side of Sven I’d never seen before. Or had I? He had always been a bit possessive, a little clingy. I thought it was normal, but it clearly wasn’t. Maybe he’d been manipulating me all along, trying to keep me from breaking up with him by pretending he’d fall apart or break like a teacup. Sven was from solid Scandinavian farm stock, though, I didn’t think for a minute that he was emotionally unstable. Instead, it was more likely that he was trying to take advantage of my sympathy for him.

At home, I got busy with the breakfast and by the time my father was home, the food was on the table and there was even some bacon for Ari. I was most impressed when my dad made him do tricks for the treat.

I was cleaning up the kitchen when there was a loud knock on the door.

“That had better not be Sven,” I said to my father.

But it was.

His face, streaked with tears, he demanded that I came out and talked to him.

“No, Sven, I’ve said everything I need to say.”

“I can’t let you go, I won’t!” He was being so melodramatic!

“You can and you will,” my father said suddenly from behind me. He pushed past me, holding his shotgun and pointing it at Sven’s chest.

“Now, Dr. Scuziak, just a minute,” he said quickly.

I noticed how the tears had dried up in an instant. Where was the outpouring of emotion now?

“Belle told you to leave. So, leave. If I catch you on my property again, I will shoot you.”

My father’s tone was menacing and cold. I had no doubt that he meant every word. Sven gave a few steps back, but then he started talking again.

“You know me, Dr. Scuziak, Bob!”

My father pointed the gun at the ground, a few feet from Sven and pulled the trigger. There was a loud bang and Sven covered his head, howling in pain.

“You shot me! You shot me!”

“I didn’t shoot you, you idiot!”

“Come,” my father said, pulling me back into the house and shutting the door.

“He’s going to go to the sheriff,” I said, worried.

Through the window, we could see Sven standing up straight, brushing himself off. The shot had hit the ground and some stones had splattered against him. He wasn’t hurt in any way. He glared at the house before turning around and marching off.

“He won’t have much joy there,” my dad said in a dry tone. My father gave me a wry look. “Sheriff Munster has two daughters himself. Pretty girls, too. I think he’ll see it our way.”

He was right about that.

On our way to the hospital, we stopped by the sheriff’s office and my father had a chat to him. “Apparently, he’s had some trouble with Sven of late,” my father said thoughtfully. “Been drinking, causing fights.”

“That doesn’t sound like Sven,” I said, but at the same time, I wondered how well I knew him after all.

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