Page 33 of Come Here and Kiss Me

After all, she didn’t need her things the very next morning. I made a statement. One that’s obvious he’s heard crystal fucking clearly.

Turning left down the hall, I head out of the university building, but before I can open the door, Mr. Micheals calls out my name from down the hall.

My hand drops from the glass knob, and I turn to him. “Mr. Micheals, how are you?”

The university hall is grandeur and traditional for such an elite university. One of the hardest to get into. Bottom line, you either have the GPA, or your parents better donate a new wing to get their kid accepted. And trust me, even then, they’re not guaranteed a spot in the lucrative college.

If you do make it in, you’re set for life. The connections you acquire just in the four years of your attendance are relationships that will hold weight and power when finding a job or career. That’s what the wealthy do for each other. Sadly, the world is hardly about what you can do. It’s more about who you know.

I don’t make the rules. It’s just the way of this high-class life. These aren’t simply students coming from middle-class homes. No, these students are born with a silver spoon in their mouths, riding to preschool in a limo with a driver.

These students wouldn’t know real life if it smacked them on the ass. This is why I never wanted to depend on my old man and made my own money, which I now seem to be endlessly spoiling Brooklyn with.

If the girl can do one thing, it’s spend money. It appears to be her favorite hobby.

“Doing well,” Mr. Michaels replies with an exaggerated sigh, moving to hold his briefcase with the other hand. “How are you?”

“It’s been a long week, but I’m happy it’s almost the weekend.”

“You didn’t attend the meeting this morning,” he states matter-of-factly, though the inflection in his tone makes it appear to be a question.

“I received the email for the emergency, and unfortunately, I couldn’t attend.” I lie through my fucking teeth, and I know he’s a smart man. He sees right through it.

“Couldn’t? Or decided not to?” he questions, cocking a brow with mild concern.

I attempt to keep my expression neutral, but the tension and irritation show no doubt because he raises a hand as if in defense.

“There are extraordinary circumstances that make certain matters and relationships delicate.”

For a moment, I do wonder what her father said to him. But the moment passes quickly.

“I don’t care what her father attempts to do or wants from us. If it’s required, I will pursue things to the full extent of my abilities.”

The professional language is at odds with my internal thoughts, but surely, I can’t tell Mr. Michaels that I’ll fuck her father with the iron fist of the law if he harasses or otherwise harms my wife.

Fiancée.

Fake fiancée.

Whatever they think she is to me.

I don’t give a fuck.

I’ve known her father is a prick all my life, but I always imagined he was different with his daughter. I know better now than to give him the benefit of the doubt when it comes to anything.

Especially Brooklyn.

I add, “His disappointment with my relationship with his daughter should not be taken to board meetings. I’m sure you can agree, Dominick?” I use his first name deliberately.

“Don’t make me regret supporting you in this,” he says flatly, in an unfamiliar tone.

“I wouldn’t,” I assure him. I think he’s finished, but the old man continues to pry.

“What happened between you and Brook’s father?”

“I love her, and he doesn’t want me with her. It’s that simple,” I tell him, lying to his face.

There’s a history between him and me that her old man has never let on about before. Perhaps out of embarrassment. He didn’t watch the chess pieces close enough.

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