Page 8 of Tattooed Love

I lived with my father. Not because I wanted to, but because I had no other choice. Dad was a typical businessman, driven by money and status. He loved two things – money, and the things money bought.

He loved me, I knew that for sure, but he loved me in a particular way. His way of showing me how much he loved me was making sure my account never dried up; I wanted for nothing, and that I had an endless supply of high end cars.

I let out a slow sigh as I drove up to the mansion that housed just my father and I, and well, our endless staff.

I had lived here my entire life, and I still felt like it was more of a display house than a home.

I dragged my feet up the staircase to the entrance of the house. Another downside to this house was all the darn stairs.

The sound of the closing front door echoed throughout the house behind me. I threw my backpack in the direction of a side table and it missed, hitting a vase instead, and sending it crashing to the floor.

Great. I am not cleaning that up.

What was with my aim today?

I usually prided myself on my aim; my ability to aim my gun and not miss a target, but today was just not my day. I couldn’t even manage to flick a pencil across the room. If Blake had witnessed that, he might have reconsidered my role in the gang.

“Amber?”

I knew that voice all too well. As luck would have it, dad was home early.

I rolled my eyes and let my head fall back very dramatically. Why did he have to be home so early? I stomped into the living room and slumped into the armchair across from him.

Like always, dad was sitting in his favorite armchair, drink in hand.

“What?” I asked, sounding tired and uninterested.

Dad looked up from his paperwork; his small glasses perched on his nose, still in his business suit. “We are having a guest move in with us for a while.”

My eyes snapped wide open. He hadn’t let anyone stay here since my brothers had left.

It had just been him and I.

“Why?”

What could possibly have compelled him to let someone move in, or even come and stay for a short while?

“A favor to your brothers,” he replied, sipping on his southern comfort.

“A favor to my brothers?” I repeated. That didn’t make sense. Why would my brothers want anyone to stay with us?

“He will be here soon,” I realized from his tone that the conversation had ended.

I stood up and left the room, walking towards the staircase. I noticed flashing lights and looked out the window to see a car approaching. I quickly took the stairs, two at a time, and ran to my bedroom.

As I closed my door softly, I heard our doorbell ring.

I was in no mood to meet and make conversation with whoever was moving in. My opinion of my brothers was very low, and any friend of theirs wasn’t one of mine - it was that simple.

***

It was a beautiful morning, and I skipped down the stairs two at a time. The chefs would have already planned breakfast. I was in the mood for some bacon, and, as I pushed the swinging doors to the kitchen open, the aroma of bacon and eggs filled the air.

My mouth watered at the aroma, until, in a split second, my world came crashing down around me.

No, it couldn’t be…

Standing there in just his shorts, no shirt was none other than… Jackson Johnston.

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