Peyton curls her fists. “Listen, trash. You have nothing on me. Kingston wouldn’t touch you even if his life depended on it. Sure, Bentley might let you suck him off—because let’s face it, he’d let practically anyone suck his dick—but the minute he blew his load, he’d toss you to the side, because you’re beneath us. You don’t belong. The faster you get that through your tiny little brain, the better. Trust me when I say you don’t want to fuck with me.”
I smile, wondering what Daddy Dearest would think if he heard his little princess going off about blow jobs and dropping F-bombs. And who the fuck is this Bentley guy? My expression must make Peyton nervous because she starts shifting on her feet.
“No, you listen.” She retreats with every step I take forward. “I grew up in the projects, bitch. Ever hear of a thing called street smarts? You can’t imagine the things I’ve seen or what I’ve learned how to do. The unsavory people I know. If anyone should be worried around here, it’s you.”
I’ve learned how to defend myself when necessary, but I’m bluffing for the most part. I’ve lived my life trying to avoid trouble whenever possible, but Peyton doesn’t need to know that. I have a feeling if I don’t stand my ground with this chick from the start, she’ll trample all over me.
I fight the urge to cover my ears when she stomps her foot and lets out a shrill scream. “Just stay away from me.”
Her long hair slaps me in the face as she turns and marches out my door.
“Gladly,” I mutter.
Wow. Welcome to the family, Jazz.
I MANAGE TO FIND THE dining room right before the clock turns six. I may be early, but I’m still the last one to arrive. I’m also the only one who doesn’t look like they’re attending a posh luncheon at a country club. I didn’t bother changing my clothes which I suspected would push the control freak’s buttons.
If I’m being honest with myself, I’m actually excited about getting to wear the stuff in my closet, but this—a faded tank and cut-offs—is the real me. I want to make sure that my first impression on these people is as authentic as it gets. I recognize Charles Callahan from our one brief encounter as soon as I walk into the room.
He eyes me with distaste. “Jasmine, did Ms. Williams not show you where your new wardrobe is located?”
I take a seat at the far end of the fancy table. “Oh, she did, but I didn’t feel like changing.”
The woman sitting next to my father flashes a fake smile. Based on her major Stepford vibes, I’m guessing she’s the wife. “I’m Madeline, dear. Welcome to the family.”
“Uh... thanks.” I nod to the basket of rolls sitting in front of her. “Pass the bread, will ya?”
My wicked stepsister snickers. “You might want to think about skipping the carbs. We wouldn’t want any rumors floating around school that you’re pregnant with some gangbanger’s kid, now would we?”
Madeline chuckles. “Oh, Peyton, stop joking around, dear. Jasmine might think you’re seriously trying to hurt her feelings.”
Peyton presses her flattened palm over her heart. “I would never do such a thing, Mother.”
Yeah, right.
Peyton gives me a look that clearly says she is trying to hurt my feelings. Too bad for her, I’m not taking the bait. I jump out of the chair and grab a roll before sitting back down.
Chewing through a big bite, I say, “It’s all good. If some vapid bitch wants to start a rumor about me, let her. I don’t give a fuck what other people say.”
I give Peyton a look that says she’s the vapid bitch I’m referring to.
My stepmother gasps while my father says, “Cursing will not be tolerated in my home, Jasmine. I realize your upbringing has been subpar at best, but I will not allow any daughter of mine to sound so uneducated. It’s unbecoming for a young lady to speak such filthy words.”
I snort indelicately, earning a horrified look from his wife. “First of all, I prefer Jazz, not Jasmine. Secondly, my upbringing was just fine. You do realize this isn’t the 1950s, right? Women swear all the time. I’ve even read a study recently that said people who curse often are typically smarter than those who don’t.”
His lips tighten as he waves a hand dismissively. “Regardless of what some study says, you are Jasmine Callahan now. There are certain expectations that come with our family name. Behaving like a well-educated and proper lady is one of them.”
“Well, it’s a good thing my last name is Rivera then, isn’t it?”
Sperm Donor gives me a smarmy smile. “Not for long. I’ve expedited the name change process. The judge should sign off on it by the end of the week.”
My jaw drops. “Excuse me? You can’t just change my name.”
His bushy eyebrows rise. “But I can, and I will. Until you’re a legal adult, the law says otherwise. Take it as the gift that it is, Jasmine. Being a Callahan will afford you certain privileges.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I never asked to be a Callahan and I don’t need any privileges that come with it.”
He narrows his icy blue eyes. “Stop being such a foolish little girl. You’ll learn to appreciate it soon enough. Once you and your sister get to school, you’ll need our family name behind you.”
Peyton sneers. “Daddy is right, Jasmine. You’d be eaten alive at Windsor if you showed up as... yourself.”
I give her a look that says, I can handle myself, remember?
I sigh. “What’s the deal with this Windsor place? Based on the uniforms hanging in my closet, I’m guessing it’s some kind of private school for rich assholes. Am I close?”
My stepmother places her hand over Sperm Donor’s forearm when his face reddens. “Jasmine, dear, Windsor is an elite prep school. Anyone who graduates from there is practically a shoo-in for the Ivy Leagues.”
I consider that for a moment. I’ve always dreamed of going to UCLA but never thought it’d be possible, despite the fact that I’ve maintained a 4.0 GPA. I could only imagine how many doors would open for my sister and me if I had a degree under my belt from such a reputable university. It’s not an Ivy, but it definitely carries prestige. The last time I checked, their admissions rate was less than fifteen percent.
“Where is it?” These two seem like the type to ship their kids off to boarding school and the one thing I won’t do is leave L.A. I need to keep an eye on Belle.
She takes a sip of wine. “We’re quite fortunate that it’s local—only about ten miles from here. You’ll love it there—it’s a beautiful facility. Only students from the upper echelon of society are admitted. It’s an honor to be accepted. You’re really fortunate things happened when they did—they never accept students after the first trimester begins, no matter how generous a donation may be. Your father had to pull some strings to get you enrolled so last minute.”
I stiffen. “I’m fortunate things happened when they did?” I couldn’t care less that I’m shouting right now. “What things are you referring to exactly? My mother’s death?”
“Well... yes,” she sputters.
Is this bitch serious right now? I’d give anything to be sitting on the couch with Belle and my mom, eating a bowl of Ramen for dinner instead of being at this monstrous table with a gourmet meal.