Boyfriend Bargain (Hawthorne University #1)(53)

“I’m not her.”

It hurts to hear those stories, even though I know they’re true.

“Good.”

I have no illusions about my father. His “legitimate” family was more important, and it was a huge embarrassment to have his mistress and bastard child in the same small town. When I was eight, he gave Mama twenty-five thousand dollars and a new Mustang, told her she had to leave Davenport and move thirty miles away to a new town where his wife didn’t have to worry about running into her at the supermarket or his kids seeing me at school. He promised to come see her, and I guess he did sometimes. It wrecked her to move away, to leave behind the place she grew up. Her parents were buried in Davenport. But, she put on a bright smile and made the best of it, promising me a new start. Those days are blurry to me, a memory that’s out of focus. I knew how fathers were supposed to be with their kids, letting them sit on their laps and ruffling their hair, but he never did those things.

Mara’s gaze is soft. “Sug, you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just been a weird month.”

“Ah, honey.” She pats my hand. “You’re going off to law school soon. You have your entire life ahead of you. Don’t be down.”

I stare down at the cup of tea she set down in front of me.

“Plus, we should take a vacation this summer. Maybe Belize. Belize has monkeys. You love monkeys.” She smiles up at Clint on the wall. “I bet Clint loves monkeys. Remember that movie Any Which Way But Loose? Damn, that was funny.”

I agree. She’s made me watch them all.

Sweet Mara. She did her best with me, and she’s always talking about vacations, but money is tight, and I wonder if it’s even feasible.

I stir the tea, trying to change the subject. “The new girl out there, Julia—how long has she been here?”

“Came in a few days ago and Candi was a no-show, so I hired her on the spot. Kinda young looking, but the suits like her.”

How have I missed her? I guess she’s here late when I’m not. “She’s my roommate and she’s practically a baby. You should let her go, Mara.”

She thinks on it. “Nah, she’s doing good. Ain’t nobody gonna lay a hand on her in this place. We run a tight ship. Plus, her drug test was spotless. Slim pickins around here, I tell ya.”

I exhale. I knew she wouldn’t listen.

She sticks her tongue out at me. “I used to strip and I turned out fine.”

“I know, I know, but she was really off last night and I’m not sure she’s cut out for this.”

Mara sighs. “She could like the attention. Some do it just so they can piss someone off, their daddy or an ex.”

I shake my head. “Just keep an eye on her.”

“Will do.”

Luis pokes his head in. “Hey, ladies, a Mr. Winchester from Birmingham, Alabama, is here to see Sugar. I told him you were talking, but he insists.”

Standing behind the barrel-chested Luis is a tall, wiry man with silver hair, small round glasses, and eagle-sharp eyes. There’s a flat, somber look to his face, and I get chills when we make eye contact. Sometimes you get a bad feeling about someone right away, and honey, I have one.





25





Sugar





“Miss Ryan, your father, Mr. George Mitchell III, passed away two days ago after a long battle with brain cancer. I’m sorry for your loss.”

The words land like little grenades in the small office, stifling everything for several seconds. Mara’s eyes are bugging out and her mouth is a circle of surprise. Even with the heat blasting in the room, I’m cold and rub my arms.

Mr. Winchester is seated in a straight back chair in the corner, his briefcase placed neatly in his lap and a rather flat yet displeased look on his face. I think it’s his why do I have to be in a strip club countenance.

“I haven’t seen my father in years.” My voice is thin, vibrating with emotion just under the surface. “A phone call would have been fine.”

He clears his throat and stares down at his briefcase, shuffling through some papers. “I’m the executor of Mr. Mitchell’s will. He’s left you a sum of money and I came here to let you know in person at his request. He left quite a few instructions and it’s my duty to carry them out.”

My heart rate doesn’t even kick up. “I don’t want his money.”

“Hush now. Don’t kick a gift horse in the mouth,” Mara hisses at me.

Mr. Winchester never bats an eye, just gives me another long look. “It would do you well to listen. In fact, I’m here today to give you plenty of notice. You’re required to attend the reading in April, along with his other beneficiaries—”

My stomach drops at the mere thought of going back to that small town. “His wife and real kids?” My lips flatten as my stomach drops.

He nods his head. “Yes, you have two half-siblings.”

Of course I do. I’ve briefly seen them in passing before. Nausea bubbles up inside me as a memory surfaces, one of seeing my father on the court square one Saturday afternoon, coming out of the historic Princess Theatre with his wife on his arm. His college sweetheart (from Vandy), she was coolly sophisticated in a way that screamed old money. I once imagined the rather hawkish-looking Mrs. Mitchell as the bad person who kept him from us, but really he was just a piece of shit. Two raven-haired twins, a boy and a girl, nearly the same age as me, tagged along behind them.