My Big Fat Fake Wedding - Lauren Landish Page 0,11

Courtney, who usually loves when Dad shits on me, is pale faced at his words.

Piling more on the shitshow, Dad proclaims, “Also, it’s our anniversary this weekend. We’ll be having a family dinner tomorrow night before we celebrate it. I expect you to attend. I’m sure your mother will have something to say about this situation as well.”

Is he serious?

The man has a lot of balls telling me what he expects of me after just threatening me.

Out of spite, I want to tell him to shove the dinner up his ass. But eating with my parents on the eve of their anniversary has been family tradition as long as I can remember. Skipping it seems like a toddler throwing a tantrum, even if there’s a part of me that wants to do just that.

“Now, if you two will excuse me,” Dad says, walking over to the door that leads to his office, “I have the Rosenberg report to go over before I head home to your mother.”

The urge to face off with Dad over his bullshit threat is overpowering, but I squash the feeling before it can take root. When my father’s done arguing, he’ll walk away and won’t listen, no matter what you say.

Like father, like son, I suppose. I’ve been accused of being stubborn a time or two . . . okay, maybe more, as well.

If I want to get in a rebuttal, it’ll have to be at another time, because I have other problems to worry about.

“Very well,” I say sharply, adjusting my suit and rising to my feet. “Maybe we can further discuss this issue when you’re not so . . . frustrated.” Dad huffs, knowing I’m just getting the last word in, but as he turns away, I swear I see sad disappointment on his face.

I stalk from the room and head to my office. Behind me, I hear Courtney’s heels click across the floor as she hastens to follow me out the doors.

“You know,” she says breathlessly as she catches up with my long stride, “normally, I love it when Dad sticks it to you, but that was brutal. Total bloodbath.”

“You think?” I ask sourly, stopping to scowl back at the boardroom. “The old man’s gone too far . . .”

“But really, a pastor’s wife, Ross? A shareholder’s wife?” Courtney interrupts, looking at me incredulously. “What in the hell were you thinking?”

“Like I said,” I growl, “I had no idea who she was.” When I see Courtney’s doubtful expression, I add, “and I wasn’t lying. I didn’t sleep with her. The one time I didn’t fuck the woman throwing herself at me, and it’s gotten me into more trouble than if I had thrown her the bone she wanted.”

Courtney’s face screws up. “Firstly, eww. Secondly, are women really throwing themselves at you left and right?”

I lift my brows in answer but feel the need to clarify. “All the time, but don’t get the wrong idea. Sleeping with them isn’t the norm. I know they’re only after me for my last name and bank account. I’m not a saint by any means, but I’m not the playboy the media and Dad think either.”

“Okay. I believe you,” Courtney says. After a moment, she bites on her lower lip, her expression softening. “Don’t be mad at Dad, though. I may be the youngest, but even I can see he only wants what’s best for you. He’s going about it all wrong, but I don’t think he’d really let the board demote you. He’s just trying to scare you into the right direction, that’s all.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re Dad’s favorite,” I grunt. “You’re not the one shouldering half the responsibility of the company on your shoulders. I’m starting to think Abi had the right idea and we’re the fuckwits.”

I like to think Abigail, my middle sister, is the sanest one of us. When she graduated college, she was offered a high-position job at the family company, but much to Dad’s dismay, Abi firmly turned down the position and ventured out on her own.

It pissed Dad off, but Abi stood her ground. She’d had enough of him telling her what to do and relished having the freedom away from the drama of running a family business.

Courtney glares at me, balling her fists. “Hey! Speak for yourself. I like my job.”

I open my mouth to defuse the growing storm in Courtney’s eyes when I hear a familiar voice from behind us ask, “Geez, am I going to have