Page 2 of Her Possessive Daddies

I grip my coffee cup tighter. "Because I'm working toward something, Chandler. Not everyone has the luxury of-"

"See? That's exactly what I mean. The attitude." He rubs his temples. "Every time I want to do something fun, you've got some excuse."

"An education isn't an excuse. It's a plan for the future. When was the last time you thought about anything past the next party?"

"Whatever.” He balls his straw paper up and tosses it across the table. “The point is, you're not the same girl anymore. And I think..." He pauses, checking his phone again. "I think we should break up."

The words hit like a slap, but the sting comes more from his casual delivery than the message itself.

"So because I'm trying to better myself, and I can't party every night on daddy's dime, I'm not good enough anymore?"

"Don't be dramatic. It's just..." He shrugs. "We're in different places. You're all about your community college classes-"

"Psychology degree."

"-and I'm living my best life. Having fun. Being young." He runs his fingers through his hair. "You used to get that."

"I used to be broke and directionless." My voice stays steady despite the tremor in my hands. "Some of us have to grow up eventually, Chandler. Some of us don't have trust funds to fall back on."

"And there's the freaking attitude again." He stands, grabbing his jacket.

“At least I have a job.” I scowl.

"You call what you do a legitimate job?" Chandler scoffs, still standing but making no move to leave.

My shoulders tense. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Abbie. Babysitting isn't exactly a career path." He waves his hand dismissively. "It's what teenagers do for pocket money."

"I'm a nanny, asshole," I correct him, my voice sharp. "There's a difference. I take care of three kids under five, manage their schedules, help with their development-"

"You watch cartoons and make PB&Js." He rolls his eyes. "Real impressive."

"At least I spend my own money." My words sound very bitter. "And anyway, I've been looking for something different. I only have one night class this semester, so my schedule's more flexible."

"Oh yeah?" His tone drips with condescension. "And what kind of job could you possibly get with your vast experience in finger painting?"

"I've had several interviews." I straighten my spine, refusing to let him make me feel small. "There's that new diner that's hiring. The hours would work perfectly with my class schedule."

"Hospitality? Food service?" He laughs, the sound sharp and mocking. "That's your big career move? From watching kids to slinging straws and menus?"

"It's a legitimate job with actual responsibilities." My fingers curl around my coffee cup. "Though I wouldn't expect you to understand the concept of responsibility."

"Whatever." He shakes his head. "Just proves my point. There will always be employment, Abbie. You’re only in college once. I'm out there making connections when I can and weighing my options-"

"You mean drinking daddy's money away?"

His jaw clenches. "At least I have prospects."

"Prospects you'll never do anything with, Chandler. As long as I've known you, you've been spoiled, directionless, and entitled. I'm so over it."

Heat rises in me at the sight of him lounging there, so smug and self-assured. Three years of my life wasted on someone who never saw past his own reflection.

"You know what?" I stand up, gathering my things. "This is actually perfect timing. I've been trying to work up the courage to tell you I'm done pretending you'll ever grow up."

"Pretending?" He scoffs. "That's rich coming from someone whose big career move is waitressing at the waffle house.”

"At least I'm doing something with my life." I sling my bag over my shoulder. "While you're mooching off people, I'm working toward actual goals. And you know what the funny thing is? I'm already over this."

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