Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“Even so, relieve us of the Licht problem, and I’ll give you the CEO position. One last hoop to jump through. Promise.”
I remained silent.
So long, in fact, he jerked his leg under the desk.
“I will need this in writing.”
He nodded. “I’m happy to sign.”
“My lawyers will be in contact with yours.” I collected my documents, happy to get as far away from him as possible.
“You should thank me, you know.”
Because clearly, being an accomplished waste of natural resources simply wasn’t cutting it, he had to be delusional about it, too.
“Which part?” I feigned interest. “The crappy upbringing or the bit where you ruined my one and only semi-normal relationship?”
Though it had to be said—Morgan bore responsibility, too.
No one forced her to open her legs to my father.
“The part where Morgan clearly wasn’t the woman you’re destined to marry, just as I warned you. In the few months you’ve known your wife, you’ve escaped your shell, lived a little, used your potty mouth again.”
“Yes, Dallas deserves a Pulitzer for driving me to sacrilege.”
“Point is, you found someone better.”
“You’ve taken a liking to her, haven’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Last time that happened, you acted on your feelings.” I stood. “There won’t be a second time, Father. If you get anywhere near Dallas, I’ll kill you with my own hands. Make it extra messy, too.”
His smile faltered. “Why do you think I’d make the same mistake twice?”
I towered over him. “Because you can’t help yourself. From the moment I was born, you wanted everything I had. And me? I’ve only wanted one thing you own—your title.”
Ollie vB
@ZachSun, want to know what I did with the 50K you gave me?
Zach Sun
Donated it to the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free?
Ollie vB
Wow.
So surprised you never got invited to the illegal raves at Harvard.
Romeo Costa
Go ahead and enlighten us, @OllievB
Ollie vB
I bought a piece of art.
Zach Sun
You did no such thing.
Romeo Costa
@ZachSun, I think he’s referring to vintage Playboy editions.
Ollie vB
Har har, o ye of little faith.
Zach Sun
Penthouse limited edition?
Ollie vB sent an image to the group.
Romeo Costa
First, assure me that opening this file won’t land me on the FBI’s watch list.
Ollie vB
The amount of abuse I’m subjected to in this group will land me on a therapist’s couch one day.
Zach Sun
You should land there thrice a week regardless.
You have more issues than National Geographic.
Ollie vB
Just open the attachment.
Zach Sun
It’s a…tweet?
Romeo Costa
Of a college girl eating ice cream in a bikini?
Ollie vB
NFT, baby.
Zach Sun
Ollie.
OLLIE.
NFTs are the biggest fake news since the Earth is flat.
Ollie vB
Just because all other celestial objects are spherical doesn’t mean ours is, too, @ZachSun.
Don’t be a blind follower.
Think outside the box.
Zach Sun
The oval-shaped box, I assume?
Romeo Costa
You just wasted 50K, my friend.
Ollie vB
But I was specifically told by some guy on Reddit it is going to be worth millions one day.
Zach Sun
He didn’t really do it.
Ollie vB
Of course, I didn’t.
I just wanted to see if you thought I was THAT dumb.
Romeo Costa
Guess you got your answer.
Ollie vB
Yeah.
Though it still escapes me how Rom is the one who is married to a Victoria’s Secret model and refuses to knock her up and I’M the one with the low IQ.
Zach Sun
You mean QI.
Ollie vB
Fuck you, Sun.
I slid into a less-than-gallant habit.
The habit included watching Dallas throughout my workday via my home security cameras and employing a security detail on retainer to trail her whenever she left the house.
Seeing as my contentious industry made me a walking target, I could’ve given myself excuses about worrying for her safety.
But deep down, I knew I had her shadowed because I wanted to be sure she wasn’t doing anything I forbade her to do.
Which, in my defense, was one thing and one thing only—other men.
In the weeks since I’d moved back in, my delicate flower of a wife had managed to do quite a bit, including but not limited to officially dropping out of her Emory degree program, single-handedly funding a SIDS awareness month gala, paying off existing medical debt at no less than three regional children’s hospitals, and sampling every Michelin-guide restaurant within driving distance.
She spent her days reading books, bullying big corps into donating to SIDS research, and playing board games with Hettie and Vernon.
At night, she binge-watched garbage on Netflix and pined over other people’s babies on social media.
Personally, I didn’t see the appeal in children. That she wanted one so bad—let alone multiple—suggested she was in desperate need of a hobby.
And no, eating was not a recreational activity, as she attempted to convince me many a times.
She also took it upon herself to rearrange my entire home, pushing furniture into areas they had no business being. Not to piss me off, I didn’t think. But rather, because she couldn’t restrain her desire to make her environment as chaotic as her.
One morning, I found her in my office, perched on my wheeled wing-backed chair. Hettie sat on the armrest, separating white Oreo filling from its shell.