Page 4 of Under His Watch

I scowled, fisting my free hand and wishing I could reach through the call and punch him. How could he call himself a parent, only caring about me for the purpose of taking my money?

“I don’t understand why you ever put up with those jobs.” His raspy chuckle, dry from all the years of smoking, grated on my nerves.

It was a no-win situation. I worked and worked and worked, knowing he’d demand a steep cut of my income because he and my mom were so generous as to let me live with them. And I worked and worked and worked because I refused to consider the alternative that he was hinting at right now.

“If you just stopped and thought about it, you could’ve been married already. And none of us would have to work.”

My patience and goodwill snapped. “Youdon’twork!”

“And you wouldn’t have to either if you just married Elliot already.”

I shook my head and closed my eyes. I’d oppose that scenario until my dying breath.

“It’s your own fault you have to work all these long hours,” he taunted.

No, it wasn’t. He was at fault for the shitty life I had. He insisted that I pay him a steep “rent” to let me live with them. If I could make money and keep it, I’d move out. I’d strike out on my own.

The only way he’d let me out of that agreement was if I moved out—after marrying Elliot.

Hell no. Over my dead body will I ever give that guy hope.

Elliot Hines was a creep. A pervert. An ugly man with, I was now convinced, an even uglier soul. My parents were old friends with his parents, and in some weird, twisted connection as long-standing acquaintances, they’d all gotten it into their heads that I should marry Elliot.

They’d concocted the pairing when we were young. He was hideous and cruel then, the mean bully of a kid no one wantedto be friends with. He never dated because no women wanted to put up with him. But my parents would never quit pressuringmeto become his wife.

“He’s loaded, Tessa,” my dad reminded me unnecessarily. “He’s making millions, and you can’t get over yourself long enough to realize how easy life could be if you just married him.”

Easy? Selling myself, selling my soul, would be easy?

“No. I’ve told you and Mom a thousand times that I don’t want to marry him, and I’ll tell you a thousand times more. I am not marrying Elliot.”

“Why not?” he demanded.

“I don’t like him.” That should’ve been the simplest reason to adhere to. Why should I be pressured to marry someone I had no connection with?

“Tough shit. You think I ‘liked’ your mother when we met?”

Covering my face with my hand, I rubbed and held in a groan.I don’t want to hear this.

“She was a nagging, whiny bitch. But hey, she gave decent head and?—”

“Stop.” I cringed. “Stop talking.”

“NotlikingElliot is a stupid excuse. You don’t have to like him. Just marry him so we can get easy money. Roll over and let him have his way, put up with it, and get over it.”

Staring at the floor, I wondered what happened to him to make him such a terrible parent, such an awful man and an intolerable human. This was ridiculous.

“What’s not to like about him, anyway? He’s more successful than anyone you’d ever meet on your own,” he scolded.

“Money isn’t everything,” I argued. “Just because he’s a lawyer and makes a ton of money doesn’t mean he’s actually successful.” The last time I talked about Elliot with my best friend, Nina, we read over the recent news about Elliot’s win in court. He seemed corrupt, likely a bad seed in the legal system.But then again, the legal system is crooked anyway, right?

“Money isn’t everything?” He cracked up, laughing so hard I couldn’t hear the late-night talk show in the background on his end of the call. “Oh, sure. Money isn’t everything according to the spoiled young woman who knows nothing about life. If it’s not everything, Little Miss Independent, why are you still living at home with me and your mom?”

“Because ever since you realized I can make money, since I got my first job when I was sixteen, you demanded that I give most of it to you.” He was a world-class asshole and an expert at using guilt to force me to pony up. No teenager should ever have to pay for a household, but he’d insisted upon it.

“You don’t like my rules, then move out,” he snarled.

I wanted to, so badly. Nina and I used to dream big and talk about leaving our shitty lives. She was stuck living with her good-for-nothing brother, Ricky. I was stuck at home with my parents. But during the slow moments of waitressing together at the Hound and Tea, we talked about saving up to move in together, to be roommates and really be conservative with our money to splurge on a vacation someday.

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