Something Like Hate - Harloe Rae Page 0,59

down his tie, inhaling a long breath. “I’ll feed your morbid curiosity, since you’re so determined to believe this is a weakness that can be used against me. After this, we’re done discussing her. Period. Do I make myself clear?”

I roll my eyes at his dramatics. “Yeah, yeah. Get on with the sordid tale.”

Landon glares out the window at the endless blue spanning far and wide. “Yvonne and I went to the same college—University of Chicago, before you bother asking. At the time, being young and careless, I dated whoever the hell I wanted. It was mostly to defy my father. Yvonne was my flavor of the week, which expanded into a month. I blame it on her being convenient and easily accessible. Her beauty held my interest well enough too. Then I made the mistake of bringing her to my parents’ house.”

He goes quiet for a moment, seeming lost in thought. His exhale is forced and thick. “To this day, I’m still not sure why I did that. It wasn’t customary for me to bring anyone home. Long story short, I found her fucking my father in his study.”

I spew mimosa all over my lap. “This better be a sick joke.”

“Even my need to outwit you isn’t that twisted. It’s a reoccurring disturbance that I would burn from memory if I could.”

“Really? No.” I rest a hand over my forehead. “Just no.”

“You heard me. I won’t repeat myself.” The boom in his tone demands that I listen.

His words revolve in a slow spin around my muddled brain. That really took an unexpected turn. I mop up the liquid from my shirt while trying not to gag over the visual he provided. “Wasn’t your dad old?”

“Age is just a number, similar to the amount in a person’s bank account. The latter makes other people do very stupid things to acquire their attention.” If his father weren’t already dead, I’m sure Landon’s glare would cause some serious damage.

“Wow, that’s gross.” The orange juice in my stomach turns sour.

“It’s expected in my world.” His flat tone is disturbing, making me shiver.

Jesus, no wonder the guy is bitter. But that doesn’t excuse him for being a jackass. I will not feel pity for this prick. “Well, that explains a lot.”

Landon scrubs over his mouth, masking a sneer. “With the most basic definition. I already hated my father, but that solidified the decision to become better than him in all ways he cared about.”

“Your company.”

He nods. “That’s the main source.”

“There’s more?”

“The list in its entirety would appall you, sugar. He had eligible women lined up for me to marry. I refused quite vehemently, and not just based on the fact that he sampled the goods before passing them off.”

Another round of bile attempts to leap up my throat. I can’t imagine being raised in such a malicious environment. His dad makes mine look like a saint. Maybe I’ve been too hard on my pops. “He sounds awful. What about your mother? They were married, right?”

“In the most superficial sense. My parents didn’t have a conventional marriage, remember? She looked the other way to keep the peace.”

It occurs to me we’ve never talked about his family, not that there’s much reason to. “Are you close with her?”

“Not really. I’ll call every now and then to say hello. She’s busy with her newfound freedom from my father. Last I heard, the most recent fling was stealing her away to a Spanish villa off the coast for a month.”

A whistle streams from my pinching lips. “That’s ritzy.”

“She deserves to be spoiled by someone actually interested in her, rather than for what she adds to his reputation.”

Another retch squeezes my throat. “I couldn’t agree more. Does she regret marrying him?”

“How could she not? There’s not much she can do to rewind time. All she can do is live for the now.”

“That’s very introspective of you,” I muse.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“As if you can fault me.”

Landon shows no outward reaction to dispute or agree with my judgment. “Does that satisfy your craving for my demise?”

I do my best not to wince. Feeling guilty for prying is ridiculous when it comes to him. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for bringing that woman—Yvonne—up.”

“No, you’re not.” His focus flicks to mine, steely and cold.

A gulp threatens to choke me. I can count the instances where I’ve been at a loss for words on one hand. This situation is one of them. With a muffled groan, I allow my gaze to stray

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