Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 59883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Dad laughs. He drops the flowers carelessly onto the table, runs a hand through his slightly graying blonde hair, and crosses to my bedside. “My name is Chris Keeley. You certainly aren’t her daughter.” With mischief in his eyes, he glances at me. “Unless my daughter has been keeping a big secret for…what? Twelve years?”
“Almost thirteen!” Myah lifts her chin up defiantly. “I’m still not leaving, and you can’t make me.”
I raise my hand to silence them both before putting my phone back to my ear. “Kane?” He hums to indicate that he’s still there. “Are you on the line with the contractor right now? Can we talk about rescheduling the whole meeting?”
Kane grunts in confusion, so I continue. “I’m not going to make it to the Pentagon.”
“What’s up, Sloane?”
“I’m in the hospital. My dad is here to drive me home, but I never made it to DC.”
My boss starts going nuts with questions, but the thing is, I don’t even have answers yet. Somehow, I manage to convince him to let me fix this all tomorrow back at the office and get off the phone. That leaves me with two problems left: the old man and the young girl.
I hand the phone to Myah. She looks up at me, confused. “Call to your father while I talk to mine.”
She turned pale. “But…”
I shook my head. “Now, Myah. Your parents don’t know where you are! I’m sure they are worried sick.”
She drops her head, readjusting her glasses slightly. “Fine, but I’m not leaving.”
I shrug. “Whatever, that’s not my problem. Go on.”
As Myah walks out into the hospital’s hallway, Dad slides into the chair next to me. I don’t like him so close. His cologne chokes me.
“Looks like you need a favor, Sloane.” The grin he gives me makes my stomach flip.
I’ve been avoiding my father for about two years now. My brother, Christian, brought it to my attention that my dad was trying his name to my bank accounts. The old man has been manipulating us both for years. I thought I had gotten out of his clutches, and into his good graces. But the nice guy routine was all an act.
I am one thing to my father: a pawn in is conman games. Something to use in his endless quest to get richer — a thing my well-off family doesn’t really need.
“Just a ride home, dad. That’s it,” I tell him, feeling exhaustion covering me.
He nods to the door and the girl who stands outside. “And the girl.”
“Someone is coming to get her,” I tell him. Turns out I was lying too.
***
Myah looks over the layout of my living room with a sneer on her prim little face. That combined with the ridged way she is standing with her hands balled into fists on her hips, tells me that she is not impressed with the décor.
Apparently, the girl will have to stay the night. Her parents can’t pick her up until tomorrow evening, so I’m being a good Samarian and enjoying the fact that the child seems to repel my father. He didn’t even stay to gloat over my accident.
“Why is everything so tan?” Myah snaps.
“Tan creates a neutral environment,” I say, slightly ignoring her and ruffling through my briefcase. “It’s calming.”
She tuts. “It’s bland. This looks like a suite in some fancy hotel.”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t mean that as a compliment.” She stamps her foot childishly. It’s enough to make me turn towards her. “It doesn’t look like anyone really lives here.” She crosses to the empty mantle and points. “You don’t even have any pictures. Don’t you have any family?”
I let out a small snort. “I have a brother and a sister-in-law that I see every day at work. I don’t need pictures to remind me what they look like.”
Myah rolls her eyes. “So instead of family, you put up pictures of bridges and buildings when you live in Manhattan, a place that has tons of bridges and buildings?”
I slide into my desk chair, press the button to turn my computer on, and glare at her. “That picture cost over ten thousand dollars, and you are getting sticky fingerprints on the glass.”
She steps back in a huff, crosses her arms, and falls onto the couch. “This place is boring.”
“Then perhaps you should call a friend and stay with them. Then we both would be spending our evenings differently, wouldn’t we?”
She hisses and turns her head.
I hope she is ignoring me, but unfortunately, I’m wrong.
“It’s just you here?”
“Yep.”
“You don’t have any pets or anything?” Before I could open my mouth to speak, she continues. “Of course not. That would ruin all the bland, tan furniture.”
Before I can say anything more, Myah finds the remote and turns the TV on loudly. It’s going to be a long night.
Chapter Six - Sloane