Page 23 of The Love You Fight For
My eyebrows rise in shock, and not a lot shocks me when it comes to my father.
“Excuse me?” I bite out, and my father sighs.
“Ashton is perfectly suited for you, Samantha. His family is a good match for ours. Be more agreeable, would you? It wouldn’t hurt you to appear more likable when he’s around. And I think, if you stop being so bullheaded and submit to your role as his assistant, you might find that you enjoy it.”
Oh, I hate him.
“And you’re hoping that I, what? That I will lovesubmittingso much that I’ll decide to make a life out of it and marry him?”
My father shrugs, and I want to scream. That’sexactlywhat he’s hoping for.
“You can’t be serious,” I whisper.
I can’t hide the disgust and, to my horror, the fear in my tone.
My father has probably already worked out the conditions of mymarriage to Ashton with the Honorable Andrew Cartwright. Just the thought of that disgusting, vile man makes me want to vomit. But becoming legally tied to him? To that family? I cannot handle all the emotions roiling in my stomach.
“You want to help me, Samantha? You want to see me succeed? Joining the Harper and Cartwright families would be the most helpful thing you could do to ensure my success and the success of our family. Not to mention, I’m sure the media would love to see you two together. I know my voters would love it.”
My father’s words are spoken so casually, so matter-of-factly, that it might as well be a one-sided conversation. No matter how a relationship between a senator’s daughter and a judge’s son would look. It could already be seen as a conflict of interest with Ashton as his campaign manager, but he thinks he’s untouchable. They all do. He’s already made up his mind how this will go, my feelings be damned, and that only serves to make me angrier.
“So you’re pimping me out?” I accuse through gritted teeth. My fresh manicure bites into the soft flesh of my palms as I squeeze my hands into tight fists. “You’ve relegated me to arm candy and ass kisser?Iam the reason you got the youth vote in the last senate election, and if you remember, Father, the youth vote saved your seat. You wouldn’t have been reelected if it weren’t for me.Iam the reason you got reelected. Me. But now I’m only worthy of being a chattel bride in your attempts to elevate our family status? Are you even hearing how archaic and ridiculous this is?”
My father sighs again, this time louder, like I’m a petulant child.
“Don’t be so dramatic, Samantha.”
“I’m not being dramatic,” I argue. “I will not be?—”
“Enough,” he cuts me off. His nostrils flare as he flicks his eyes to the door and back to me. “You will not argue with me about this in front of my staff. If you want to be here, you will do as you’re told. If you cannot do that, you can leave. But let me remind you that there are conditions to your trust fund, Samantha. You live comfortably on your allowance because Iallowit, but my generosityis not infinite, and you do not want to violate the conditions of your trust.”
His threat is about as subtle as a nuclear warhead.
I wince because I know he wants me to. I back down because pretending like I give two fucks about his money is the only safe and believable angle I have. But god, does it physically hurt to lose this one.
“Do you understand what I am saying, Samantha?”
I jerk out a nod.
“Loud and clear, Daddy.”
“Perfect.” His answering smile nearly burns my retinas. “How about you go see if there is anything you can do for Ashton to make his job easier, hm?”
I smile, nod once more, then leave without another word. The day I no longer have to kowtow to Thom Harper will be the day I finally know true and complete happiness.
I walk slowly toward Ashton’s office space. I open the door and give him a radiant smile. The way he blinks in my direction tells me he was expecting my wrath. He doesn’t know what to do with a smile.
“I’m taking an early lunch, Ashton, but I wanted to know if you had any tasks you needed me to complete for you while I’m out.”
Every word is like chewing on thumbtacks, but I get them out. I say them, and I make it sound like I mean them. I’m a fucking gold star liar. Like father, like daughter.
I leave the building with a bulleted list of menial errands from the man-child whom I now serve, and I wait until I’m safely across town in my car before I pull to the side of the road and scream into my expensive designer handbag.
I scream so long that my voice cracks and my head starts to throb.
My eyes prickle with tears and the back of my neck dots with sweat.
I scream until I can’t scream anymore.
