“Stop the nonsense, Mr. Mullins.”
“You know I prefer it when you call me Daddy Z.” He waggles his brows at me as he crosses the room, wafting his manly scent my way. He drops his body into the chair across from me, sprawling out as though he’s royalty and I’m here to serve him. “Besides, Mr. Mullins is my dad and I’d prefer not to be anything like him if I can help it.”
His words are said in jest, but I don’t miss the clipped way in which he says them. Zane is tightlipped most of the time about his father, but I know he doesn’t get along with him.
“How did training with Coach Long go last week?” I ask, ignoring his attempts to fluster me.
“Did you see me limping when I came in?” he asks, his green eyes brightening.
No, I was too busy staring at your kissable mouth.
“I did not.” I clear my throat and smooth out the non-existent wrinkles on my skirt. “I take it he’s helping you work through your injury?”
His features grow stormy and he nods. “Coach is such a dick, but he knows his shit.”
“Don’t curse,” I grumble.
“Oh, sorry,” he amends, “I forgot you have virgin ears.”
He licks along his bottom lip and dammit if I don’t follow the action, completely enamored by the movement.
“I, uh, don’t have virgin ears. It’s just inappropriate for school.” I lift my chin, hoping to assert some authority over him. “Can we discuss your plans for when you graduate next month?”
“Probably prison if we’re being honest.” He shrugs and then chuckles. “Don’t look so surprised, Miss B. We both know it’s inevitable.”
I’m about to chide him when my phone buzzes with another call from Daddy. Probably to apologize for being so cruel earlier. I try to ignore it, but as soon as it hits voicemail, he tries again. He wouldn’t continue to call unless it were an emergency.
“Answer it,” Zane says, gesturing to my phone. “I can tell it’s driving you crazy not to.”
“I just need to make sure nothing’s wrong.” I swipe a finger over my screen to take the call. “Hello?”
“For heaven’s sake, sweetheart, you know I hate when you don’t answer the first time,” Daddy chides in greeting.
“I’m in a meeting,” I mutter back. “What’s the emergency?”
“No emergency,” he assures me. “I just have someone new for you to have dinner with. Someone I think you’ll be more compatible with. Sean Gentry is also an attorney at our firm, but he’s younger than Carl. I think you’ll like him.”
A flash of annoyance bursts through me. He’s so hot and cold. One minute he’s calling me a disgrace to our family and now he’s pretending as though that conversation didn’t happen. He’s back to auctioning his daughter to the highest bidder.
“Daddy,” I clip out, “I have a student in my office. You know Mondays I have this weekly career meeting. Can we discuss this another time?”
The line goes silent. All irritation fades as my anxiety spikes. I don’t like upsetting my father, but sometimes he’s too overbearing that even the good girl who’s used to pleasing him loses her cool.
“Just meet Sean for dinner at five. I’ll text you the details,” Daddy says in a curt tone. “We can discuss your disrespectful attitude over Mom’s roast on Sunday. Goodbye, sweetheart.”
And just like that, the stinging tears are back.
I swallow down the giant ball of emotion forming in my throat. Now’s not the time to analyze why no matter what I do, it’ll never seem to be enough for my father. Keith had the right idea. He chose himself. His happiness. His needs. My brother knew he’d never measure up to Daddy’s impossible standards, so he didn’t even try. Keith’s happy being a single, nearly thirty-year-old playboy bartender.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, unable to look at Zane as I set my phone down on the desk. “I shouldn’t have answered that. Where were we?”
When he doesn’t reply, I lift my eyes to meet his intense stare. He jokes around a lot, but on occasion, I catch him staring at me as though he has private access inside my mind. Like he knows secrets about me no one else does.
“Your dad sounds like he’s just as much of a dick as mine is,” he says, his brows furling. “Want to talk about it?”
I chew on my bottom lip. No matter how much I try and force him to talk about his future, it’s pointless. He doesn’t budge. Yes, his grades have improved and he seems to enjoy training with Coach Long, but as far as his plans beyond graduation next month, we haven’t made any progress. So, straying from the usual argument we have, I decide on a different tactic. Maybe if he can trust me a little as a friend, I can get him to open up.
“He’s not a…” I fight a smile. “Dick.”
Zane laughs. “There’s my girl.”
My heart does a flutter inside my chest. I feel like an idiot for letting him get to me, but I can’t help it. His forward nature these past three months is wearing me down.
“He’s just overbearing,” I admit with a sigh. “I’m the good girl. The twin who followed the rules and got a respectable job within the community. He’s used to me obeying and when I don’t, I think it reminds him of my brother.”
Zane crosses his arms over his chest, which makes his biceps bulge. Not that I notice or anything. His scrutinizing gaze has me squirming in my seat.
“What?” I mutter, suddenly self-conscious.
“I’m just trying to imagine another version of you. I bet he has no problems getting laid.”
I curl my lip up. “No one wants to imagine their brother getting laid.”
“You have a point there.” His lips quirk up on one side. “You never have the urge to disobey Daddy?”
My face flames hot at the breathy way he says the word Daddy. “No,” I hiss. “I don’t like disobeying him…”
“But? Come on, Miss B. Don’t hold out on me now.”
“But sometimes I wish he’d stop trying to set me up on dates. There. You happy?”
His features darken and his jaw clenches. “Am I happy that your dad is trying to pimp you out to old douchebags? Fuck no.”
Warmth pools in my belly. “I, uh, think we should discuss college now.”
“Why?” he probes, his gaze dropping to my chest. “Is the conversation getting inappropriate?”
The room goes silent and then we hear it.
Soft, breathy moans in the office next door.
My eyes widen and Zane stands, shaking his head.
“Just let them be,” he grits out, a fierce expression on his face. “Please.”
“I…holy crap.”
This is so awkward. And wrong. I should tell someone, right? The principal of our school is not just kissing a student like I witnessed recently, but is most definitely fucking her, clearly unbothered by the fact others can hear. I can’t live in denial when I’m witnessing it firsthand and with another student no less. I need to report this, right? But I’m no better because I have far too many late-night secret fantasies where the man, who’s now rounding the side of my desk, warms my bed. I wouldn’t act on them, though.