Page 30 of Reptile Dysfunction
“Nobody wants to read?” I lean forward, anger propelling my words. “My readership has burgeoned in just the last week. People are hungry for the truth, Bradley. Therealstories about integration, not the sanitized version you and my father want to sell.”
Something ugly flashes across his handsome face. “Your little blog is causing problems. My father’s company—”
“Your father’s company has been pressuring monster business owners to sell below value,” I cut in, watching his expression shift from surprise to calculation. “That’s the truth, right? That’s why you care about my ‘monster obsession’—creating support for them is threatening your family’s business interests.”
His voice softens slightly, and for a moment I see the boy I grew up with instead of the calculated businessman.
“Look, maybe I’m going about this all wrong. But I watched you leave for New York with such big dreams, and I’ve watched your father worry about your happiness ever since you came back. I know this sounds patronizing, but I don’t want to see you get hurt by someone who can’t give you the stability you deserve. The life we both know you’re capable of building.”
His hand reaches for mine. I immediately pull away.
“Your father and mine have plans—”
“Plans?” The pieces click suddenly into horrible focus. “Oh, my God. This isn’t just about the merger of their companies, is it? This is about me.I’mpart of the merger.”
His silence is answer enough.
“I’m not going to dinner.” My hand finds the door handle.
“Don’t be dramatic.” Bradley’s voice hardens, his mask slipping. “This has always been the arrangement. Why else did you think our fathers encouraged us to date? You come home, we make it official, your father backs my father’s development plans, everyone wins.”
“Everyone except the monsters whose businesses get forced out,” I counter, disgust rising in my throat. “And… everyone except me, apparently.”
“You’ll be a Harrington!” Frustration colors his words. “Do you understand what that means? The doors that will open? The influence you’ll have?”
“I understand exactly what it means.” The door handle is cool under my palm. “It means trading my integrity for your family name. It means pretending I don’t see the truth. It means choosing the easy, convenient path instead of what’s right.”
“And what’s right is choosing aGorgon?” Bradley’s laugh is sharp, disbelieving, contemptuous. “You can’t be serious, Sloane. What can he offer you that I can’t? Security? Status? A future?”
“Honesty.” The word tastes like freedom on my tongue. “You know what the difference is between you and Thad? He uses intimidation as a power, but you use it as a privilege. And only one of you is honest about it.”
“Sloane—”
But I’m already out of the car, the evening air cool against my heated skin. My phone buzzes with what’s probably my father’s number, but I silence it without looking.
“This isn’t over,” Bradley calls after me, his icy composure finally shattered. “Your father won’t—”
“Goodnight, Bradley.” I don’t look back as I walk away, each step feeling like choosing who I want to be—the proper daughter making the expected alliance, or the journalist who kisses Gorgons and exposes truths and doesn’t care who it makes uncomfortable.
The walk back to the water tower takes forty minutes in impractical shoes. At least they aren’t my Louboutins. Every step feels like freedom. Every ache in my calves reminds me I’m walking toward something real.
For a moment, I consider texting Thad to ask him to pick me up. But the thought of him trying to navigate those spiral stairs in his current condition makes me wince. He’d probably try anyway, the stubborn Gorgon, and end up making his injury worse just to play hero. No, this walk is mine to make.
Besides, after forty minutes of anticipation, of choosing him over everything safe and expected, I have plans for that water tower. Plans that definitely require him to conserve his energy.
Chapter Thirteen
Thad
The water tower feels emptier than usual tonight. My footsteps echo off the curved walls as I pace the circumference of my living room for what must be the hundredth time. Every step hurts, but I’m more focused on the pain in my heart. Every few minutes, I catch myself glancing at my phone, hoping for a message that hasn’t come.
My snakes droop pathetically, mirroring the hollow feeling in my chest. Even Sterling, usually the most animated of the bunch, hangs limply over my forehead like a wilted flower. I popped a couple of pills I found in the cabinet, and the fire in my back has cooled—but the burn of watching Sloane walk out to meet Bradley? Still raging.
“She had to go,” I tell my dejected snakes. “What was she supposed to do? Tell Daddy’s golden boy to get lost?”
Several snakes hiss miserably in response. They don’t buy my rationalizations any more than I do.
I drop onto my couch with a wince, careful of my still-tender back. The soup Sloane made sits cold on the stove, untouched since she left. I couldn’t bring myself to eat it, as if consuming the last evidence of her presence would somehow make her absence more permanent.
