Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,46

snaps up from his salmon, slack with surprise. Almost instantly, his expression morphs to annoyance. “How did you get in here?”

I take a sip of the mimosa. A bit too tart, if you ask me. “The attendant at the front let me in,” I lie. There goes his job. “Why, am I not welcome?”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, I’d say you’re looking well, but it’d be a lie. You look like you haven’t slept in days, and that suit…” His gives a distasteful sniff.

I look down at my shirt front, making a show of trying to smooth out the wrinkles. “It’s the weirdest fucking thing, but turns out, our dry cleaners won’t accept my business anymore.”

Our dry cleaners.

My old man sure knows how to burn and salt the earth.

He yanks his linen napkin from his lap, dabbing at his mouth. “What do you want?”

I take my time answering, enjoying the uncomfortable expressions on his partners’ faces. “I just came to deliver this.” I pull the small box from my jacket pocket, laying it on the table. “Birthday gift for mommy.”

He stares at me, unamused. “Your mother’s birthday was six weeks ago.”

“Oops.” I reach across the table to grab someone’s croissant.

Looking around the veranda, my father plasters on a mild grin and quietly announces, “You’re causing a scene.”

“Am I? I hadn’t noticed.” Shrugging, I follow his gaze to a couple a few tables away. They’re watching us with confused, reluctant expressions. I toss Georgia and Warren a wave, raising my voice. “Oh, yeah, Haynes is having lunch with Mr. McAllister. Weird, right? Guess it’s only illegal when I’m the one fucking her.”

I watch as Georgia’s jaw drops, eyes bugging out. She blushes a deep, vivid pink before shielding her face with her hair.

Dragging in a deep breath that’s probably meant to be calming, my father turns to his partners. “I need a moment alone with my son.” They don’t need to be told twice. Uppity corporate types only like drama when it’s whispered and dressed up in social mores. Fuck all that. Once they’re gone, my father gives me a hard look. “Security will be here at any moment, at which point you’ll kick up even more of a fuss, I’m sure. You’d better make it worth it.”

“I really should,” I agree, tossing half of the uneaten croissant aside. “But nothing is really worth my times these days. Teaching a bunch of spoiled brats how to swim because their parents were too lazy and uninvolved to do it themselves isn’t the best use of my skills.”

He smiles coolly. “And what, exactly, are these skills you think so highly of? Because you nearly failed out of college, got hauled to jail and charged with reprehensible crimes, and have absolutely nothing to show for the last year of your life.” He takes a drink of his sweet tea, but he’s not done. “Oh, and that doesn’t even touch on your gambling problem. The only skill I see is that you’ve wasted so much of my money and influence while doing it.” He leans back in his seat, gesturing to me with his glass. “If those are your skills, then you’re an exceptionally gifted embarrassment.”

I lurch from my seat, towering over him, fists curled, stomach searing in agony. The nerve of this asshole. All around me, people shift uncomfortably. From my periphery, I can see the hired security coming through the gate, but I don’t break my father’s dispassionate gaze. “I guess lazy and uninvolved parenting seems to be going around these days.”

“Uninvolved?” he says, eyes flashing. “You think someone with a sexual crime conviction could normally serve their community service hours at the local high school?” He picks up his fork, waving one of the security guards his way. “You’re just confirming what I’ve known all along. You’ve been pampered and protected for so long that you can’t even recognize privilege when it’s shown to you.”

I’m not someone who fights with my fists. That’s what my brother does. Sebastian is all about bone and flesh, beating something until it’s bloody. It’s sleazy and barbaric. The man in front of me taught me that real men fight with their heads. They strike out with ideas, leverage, power. He used to tell me that life is a game, and the second you show your temper, you’ll know you’ve lost. I’ve always respected that about my father. His hands never get bruised. He always has control.

But right now, I want nothing more than to hit him