Page 23 of Don't Hate Me
Me:Just be careful.
I parroted her. Then I dropped my phone into my pocket and got to work. I felt it buzz again, but I wasn’t going to respond. Ash could await.
I needed to get started. This wasn’t a game to me. I needed to focus on the work in front of me if I was going to prove something to Landen.
If that even meant anything.
7
February
Ashleigh
I hearda knock on my bedroom door, and lifted my head from the book I was reading.
“Yes?”
“It’s me,” Arthur said, through the door. I heard him rattle the doorknob only to find I’d locked the door.
“What can I do for you?” I didn’t bother to get up. He wasn’t so crass he’d try to force his way in, and, until I knew if he was sober or drunk, I wasn’t risking opening the door.
“Ashleigh,” he barked. “This is silly speaking to you through a closed door. Open it at once. I merely need you to attend a function with me.”
I stayed on my bed. “What kind of a function?”
“It’s a fund-raising event for charity. For animal shelters or something. You like animals.”
I did. Arthur would never let me have one because of my asthma, even though having asthma and being allergic weren’t necessarily related. Not that he cared. Still, to have a furry friend all those years would have been a comfort.
“When is it?” I asked.
“Tomorrow night. In the city. It’s a formal affair. Dress appropriately.”
“Appropriately or immaturely? You’ll need to be more specific,” I told him.
“Ashleigh, I do not appreciate this attitude. Tomorrow night, downstairs by five p.m. sharp. You’re representing the Landen name. I expect you to act like it.”
I heard the heavy footsteps of him walking away and resigned myself to my fate. Which meant an hour in a car with him, heading into Manhattan. Hours of pointless small talk with people, and any number of air kisses. Topped off by what was a typically bland meal, engineered that way to accommodate the tastes of so many people.
Representing the Landen name. I didn’t even know what that meant.
I heard a buzz and reached under my pillow for my burner phone.
Marc:Hey, you up?
Me:Yes. Did you get it? Did the dean give you permission to graduate early?
Apparently that was a thing at Princeton. It wasn’t enough just to be able to handle the course work. Marc had to be granted Advanced Placement, which meant he was eligible for Advanced Standing, which would allow him to graduate early. That had to be decided by the dean of his department.
Marc:I got it. Advanced Placement. Dean thinks I should have no problem graduating next December.
I gasped. He did it. He got it. It meant we were counting down the months to when he’d be free and clear of any influence my father could have over his education.
Me:You’re amazing! Have I told you that recently?
Marc:Not in the last week, no. You doing okay? Arthur giving you any trouble?
Me:No more than usual. I have to attend a thing in the city tomorrow night. When am I going to see you again?
