“Excuse me, but I asked you to tell me about you. Not your father.”
He swallows and I see his left eye twitch—one of the tells that he’s close to biting my head off. “Very well,” he grinds the words out between clenched teeth. “I went to a private prep school where I dominated in academics and sports. I was at the top of my class even though I got mono. And I graduated with honors. From there I went to Harvard, and then to Harvard Law School. The plan was to become a lawyer so I could be hired on at my father’s company, but I was so sick of him and his life that I shunned his offer and ventured out on my own.”
“And by going out on your own, you mean you took your trust fund and started the life you have now, right?” I say motioning around the room with my fork.
He nods slowly. “I did have a trust fund,” he reluctantly agrees.
“So all that talk about working for what you want in life was just bullshit?”
His back straightens. “No! I do work for what I want in life.”
“You do now, but you had a nice, cushy bank account to get you started.”
“Your point?”
“My point is, how do you think you’d be living right now if you hadn’t inherited that trust fund? Would you be living like me in a shitty apartment—wearing clothes you bought from the thrift shop? I mean, you’d be buried in student loan debt. And I bet Harvard would set you back a lot more than my four-year state school—that is, if you could’ve even gotten in without your father’s connections.”
“All right, yes, I will admit that there may be some privilege, but I do work for everything I have now.”
“I’m just saying that the people you think are below you are just the same as you, but they didn’t have a head start in life. They started from the bottom—not already on top.”
“Clearly, we’re not playing nice tonight,” he breathes out, picking up his wine glass.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get the memo. I just assumed by the shots you were firing my way that it went both ways.”
He pushes away from the table. “I’ll speak with you tomorrow, Poppy. Try to not be late in the morning. You’ll be riding with me and I leave at 6:30 a.m. sharp.” He leaves the dining room and I finally feel comfortable enough to eat.
Four
Matthew
I swear, nothing can aggravate me as much as that woman in there can. Would it kill her to show a little respect? I suppose I was a little hard on her when she was speaking, because I was searching for any way to piss her off. I have to give it to her . . . she did manage to hold her tongue pretty well. Those are exactly the tools she’ll need when she meets my father. I might as well prepare her for what lies ahead.
After getting pissed off at dinner, I go straight to my bathroom to take a steam in my custom sauna before showering. I don’t know what the hell it is about Poppy Russell that drives me wild while simultaneously bringing out the worst in me. I hate that Daniel is right: I treat her like shit because I’m an asshole—an asshole who can’t get her out of my mind. The way she always chews her bottom lip when she’s scrambling to meet my demands, the way she always looks like she half-rolled out of bed . . . something about it just makes me want to bend her over my knee before stripping her naked and worshipping her lithe body.
I’d love to know how she maintains her perfect physique—that tiny waist and those long, lean legs. I lean my head back against the wall as I replay the way she bent over my desk last week. She was frantically mopping up the cup of coffee she’d just spilled on my desk, and instead of being pissed, I couldn’t get past how close her bare neck was to my lips. I inhaled her floral scent and had to physically restrain myself from slipping a hand behind her head and kissing her full, pouty lips. She almost caught me too. She turned around and the look on her face reminded me that I should be angry, so I quickly jumped up and shouted at her. I hate that I’ve played