Page 30 of Arranged Devotion
But to hell with it. I’ve already lost my mind. Why not go all the way?
“One more time. But then we’re done.”
His laugh suggests he doesn’t believe that for a second, and I’m not sure I do either.
CHAPTER 8
REGAN
Ithought I was past the walk-of-shame phase of my life, but apparently everything comes full circle after a vicious breakup.
Nobody’s downstairs when I creep in the back door. My mother’s probably in the basement riding her exercise bike and I bet my dad already left for the office. God, look at me, sneaking into my family’s multi-million-dollar townhome like a stranger. I’m still in my clothes from the night before and my hair smells like a mixture of wine, whisky, and sex. It’s a good smell, if I’m being honest, but I don’t want to run into my parents right now.
Not when they already look at me like I’m a failure.
How’d it end up like this? A few weeks ago, I had my whole life perfected. A group of decent friends, most of whom ghosted after Kieren banged his whore and disappeared, a stable job at my father’s company, a man I thought was my forever. We were going to have kids, meet other parents, fight to get them into the best daycares and private schools, and now?—
I’m tip-toeing back to my childhood bedroom hoping my parents don’t realize I was out all night banging a total stranger.
Again.
Luckily, nobody intercepts me. I change, rinse off, brush teeth, throw on my work clothes, and check my phone. Running behind, but not too bad. I’m doing my makeup haphazardly when there’s a soft knock on the bathroom door.
“Regan? You in there? You decent?”
My father’s voice. I pause, surprised. He rarely comes to this part of the house, much less ever acknowledges me. I open up and squint at him. “Hey, Dad, what are you doing still home?”
He looks past my shoulder at the vanity and seems to consider me like I’m a radioactive ant. “I went to speak with you last night, but you weren’t home.”
Oh shit. A thousand worries burst through my brain. “I was out with friends,” I blurt before I can stop to consider if that’s the best lie.
Too late now.
Dad doesn’t seem to care though. He grunts, checking his watch, distracted, and slips his phone from his pocket. “I wanted to talk to you about this in private, but you’ll have to come to my office instead. Before lunch. Ten sharp.”
“What’s going on?”
“It’s important. Don’t be late.” He turns and walks off.
My typical father. Appear out of thin air, drop a bomb, and storm off without bothering to explain anything. Maybe there’s a reason I was attracted to Kieren to begin with.
Gross. Definitely not examining that.
I consider calling Dad back but I know from long experience that it won’t work. He said what he said, and now it’s on me to obey. I bristle, but in the end, I’ll do as he asked, because it’s better for everyone if my father gets his way. I’ll continue meekly through the day, dipping my chin along, smiling sweetly, doing everything right, and maybe if I’m so perfect it’s excruciating he’ll deign to give me some small gesture of approval, a teeny-tiny crumb, like a drop of water in a desert.
Most likely he won’t though.
That’s the sick part: I’m pathetic and desperate for approval I know I’ll never get.
No wonder I’m unhinged enough to light Kieren’s car on fire.
I return to getting ready for work, rattled and obsessing about what fresh hell my father’s about to unleash on me.
Fortunately, I make it to work on time. I hit my desk by eight-thirty, brew coffee in the break room, and proceed to kill the morning on busywork. It’s close to nine-thirty when a surprise pops up at the edge of my cube.
“Whatever you did, Dad wasnothappy about it last night.” Luke’s voice is low and boyish, amused and accusing at the same time. He comes around and props himself against the wall, his dress shirt askew, his tight khakis a touch wrinkled, but Luke still manages to look both good and professional. I have no clue how he pulls that off. I can iron my slacks for an hour at the crack of dawn and still look like a mess, while my little brother basically rolls out of bed, spits in his hand to comb his hair, pulls on whatever he’s got on the floor nearby, and still looks fantastic. He never took to the office the way Dad would’ve wanted, buteveryone likes him and that’s a skill in itself. Besides, he’s only twenty-four. Plenty of time to get it together.
Lord knows I can’t judge.
