Page 8 of Hot For Her Bully

"Whitney, I'm doing all of this on your terms. No one knows that we're father and daughter. You pay for that with the rumors that spread about you. I think it's time we stop this charade and let everyone know?—"

"No. My life is hard enough as it is. I don't know what will be worse—them thinking I fucked you for the job or them knowing you're my dad and gave it to me. Either way, I'm fucked. Just give the position away or something."

"Absolutely not. I made the position for you. Wait a minute. You said give it away. To whom?"

"Weston Whitlock?—"

This time, his laughter echoes around the room. "I'm not giving anything to that cheating little shit. Besides, isn't he one of the assholes behind these idiots calling you names?"

"He saved me last night," I tell him the partial truth. "We talked things out, and we're thinking about seeing each other. No, we are going to see each other."

"No." His tone is final, but he pulls out his phone and swipes the screen, obviously reaching out to someone. "You're going to dinner tonight with Richard Ballinger. I don't want to know what strings Weston pulled to get you in my office with this bullshit, but it's over."

"You can't tell me who to date. He saved my life. Some jock dumped a bunch of shit in my drink, and Weston kept me safe. He didn't touch me and let me sleep it off on his couch."

"It's just a tactic to get you to do this since I called him out yesterday at that sham of a career fair. A fair I was only at by your request."

"You don't have to give him the job, Dad. Just give him an interview to make it look like you're not screwing him over because he's been mean to me. Besides, with us dating, it will dim down those rumors about me fucking professors."

"Fine, he'll get an interview as long as you go to dinner with Richard. Don't embarrass me, Whitney. The Ballinger family is important to my business. Have fun. Now go get yourself cleaned up. We'll talk tomorrow."

CHAPTER 5

Weston

The day passes with people leveling looks my way, giving me a glimpse of Whitney's experience. People whisper and turn away, but the craziest thing happens in the cafeteria. Quinn and a few of his teammates approach me while I'm in line waiting to pay for my food.

"Still going to break my hand?" Quinn whispers in a maniacal tone that tells me no matter what I say, this is going to end in a fight.

"No." I raise my voice loudly so as many people as possible can hear me. "I only wanted to break the hand you used to drug my girlfriend last night. What the fuck were you thinking? You're lucky that Whitney doesn't want to press charges. I still have the cup?—"

I don't, but I can convince this idiot to believe anything.

"I still have the cup she drank out of with only your prints and hers on it with the drugs at the bottom," I tell him in a low enough voice so only he and his teammates can hear me. I hope they talk some sense into him. A few of them walk away while another taps Quinn on the shoulder to do the same.

Quinn doesn't take the hint. "You fucked up my night. You probably fucked up my season."

"It's April and we're seniors. There is no season after graduation unless you were magically drafted to the Special Teams bench of a team no one knows about."

The bruise to his ego is evident with the redness covering his face. He balls his fist. I immediately put my tray of food down beside the cashier. I don't want my food wasted. I'll take it cold but not knocked all over the floor because this Neanderthal has a problem with me.

The moment Quinn swings, I duck out of the way and use his burly size to nudge him into the counter where the cashier sits. The force of him hitting the beige island makes the cash register shake. The cashier doesn't move, steadily blinking in nonchalance. I grab Quinn by the back of his collar and hook him in a full-Nelson. My arms lock under his arms and around his neck to the back of his head. The shades of red and blue blooming across his face enrage him.

"Let me go," he spits and slobbers, tapping my arm to release him.

"I will, but this fight is over. I have class and then I have to meet my girl for dinner later. I can't show up with a black eye. Whitney doesn't like me fighting, especially over her. It's taken too much for us to get here, and I'm not going to let you fuck it up."

I'm leaning into the role of her boyfriend to make sure people believe it, but I hope she's doing the same. Quinn nods in agreement, so when I let him go, he shoves me back. I give that to him, letting myself fall against the cashier's counter with my hands raised in defeat.

Once Quinn walks away, I notice one of his teammates hanging out, and I nod to him. I hope he doesn't want to fight me over this shit. Instead, he chuckles and approaches me with his head down.

"I know Whitney is your girl and all, but I heard she's going on a date with Dicky Balls tonight. You may want to see what that's about before you risk your life defending her honor." The footballer walks away, leaving me reeling with anger.

She only has one job to do, and still, Whitney finds a way to fuck it up. I text her immediately through the school's social media app. It's stupid, but it's the only app she hasn't blocked me on. I like to think of that as a triumph.

Dick and Balls. Really?

Stupid autocorrect. I wait for her to respond, but nothing comes through.

---