Grumpy Romance : A Romantic Comedy (Billionaire Dads)
Grumpy Romance: Chapter 11

KENYA

He’s either going to kill me or fire me. Either way, I’m not keeping my mouth shut.

After talking to Sunny last night and doing some soul searching, I realize what really bothers me about Holland Alistair.

He’s a jerk. To me.

And it shouldn’t surprise me since he’s basically a jerk to everyone, but it keeps rubbing me raw.

He’s gorgeous. Brilliant. Arrogant.

Sure. All the above.

But he keeps treating people like disposable potato sacks. Whenever he’s in a room, I feel like I’m a chess piece he can push and prod at will. It was just a hint before because, clearly, he’s my boss. Like Heather said, I’m an errand girl. Running after Alistair’s every whim is what I’m paid to do.

But it’s more than that.

He took away my right to leave his bullying behind.

That really ticks me off.

Even part time jobs allow me to quit on a whim.

I didn’t sign my life away when I entered this company. This isn’t a kingdom. Alistair isn’t my king. I want the freedom to leave if I choose. I don’t want to feel trapped, and I hate that I am. That he’s the one holding the key.

He hangs up the phone and gives me an astonished look. “Sutherburg is here.”

“Really?” My palms start to sweat. “Is that normal?”

He shakes his head.

Weird.

But it’s none of my business. If Sutherburg did come all the way here to yell at Alistair, I wish him luck. Alistair will slice his head off and pick his bones clean. No one seems to be excluded from his hit list. Not even his business partners.

“I’ll continue my work for the in-store promotion,” I tell him. Now that I’ve said my piece, I’m eager to leave.

He nods absently. Then he calls me back. “Wait. Ezekiel is out right now. I’ll need you to bring refreshments.” His eyes focus on me and sharpen. “Can you handle that?” It’s a question, but the fury behind it tells me there’s only one right answer.

“Yes.”

His stare hardens.

What? Is he upset again? Does he want me to drop into a curtsy when I answer him?

Alistair pulls out his phone and frowns. “Hurry. They’ll be here any minute.”

If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t move until they said ‘please’. Just to remind them that we’re all humans and that manners haven’t gone out of style.

But since it’s Alistair and I’ll probably be blue in the face before he treats anyone like a human being, I decide to let it go.

Hustling through the hallway, I start the coffee brew. I’m halfway through the task when harried footsteps charge toward me.

“Miss Jones!” Our new intern sprints into the room. Her eyes are wide and her red-stained lips are parted. “Miss Jones!”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Mr. Alistair is calling you.”

“Me?” My eyes dart to the coffee. “But I just—”

“I’ll do that.” She extends pale arms and shoos me away from the coffee machine. Her breathing sounds heavy, like she ran all the way here. A glance at her shoes makes me whistle. Mad respect. I’d probably bust my leg open trying to run in those.

“Hurry,” she says. “It sounded urgent.”

I’m on the move in a blink. What could it be? Did Alistair have an allergic reaction to the headache pills? He’s not going to blame me, is he? I intentionally got him a brand-new bottle so he wouldn’t say anything stupid about me tampering with the meds.

What if he needs me to give him the Heimlich?

Should I?

Or what, Kenya? You’ll leave him to die?

I’m a horrible person.

Skidding past Ezekiel’s empty desk, I throw the door open and hustle inside the boss’s office. My eyes skate around the room, noting the absence of a fire, flood or chaos.

Instead, I see Mr. Sutherburg. The short man is seated in a wingback chair. From the crimson flush creeping over his ears, he’s either excited about something or royally ticked off.

With his protruding stomach, bushy brows and calculating brown eyes, Sutherburg strikes me as a businessman who knows how to turn on the charm or bite you like a snake when the mood hits him.

I let the door click shut behind me.

Alistair grunts. “Sit here, Miss Jones.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my face. He’s inviting me to sit next to him? When I grabbed the chair at his elbow during the meeting with the PR team, I thought I was sitting next to an open fridge. No, worse than that. A meat locker. The kind they use in horror movies to show the serial killer traipsing around next to slabs of beef.

I approach him cautiously. “I didn’t get to bring the coffee.”

“Oh, we don’t have time for coffee.” Sutherburg says. His hands move so animatedly that he might fly out of his seat. The ruddy flush in his ears spreads to his cheeks and neck.

“I see,” I murmur, still confused.

Alistair leans close and his intoxicating scent of spice and dry mint washes over me. A thrill goes down my spine.

“He insisted on having you here,” Alistair growls close to my ear.

And oh Lord. His voice when it’s not barking and grunting at me is pure, decadent chocolate.

The thrum of attraction snakes lower.

I hold myself perfectly still as Alistair draws away from me and straightens his jacket.

Sutherburg gestures to the man sitting next to him. Something about the way he carries himself catches my eye. It’s an arrogance. A sign of stature. Of authority.

Alistair has that poise too, except it’s muddied by his bad temper and general apathy for anyone with a beating heart. It makes him colder. Clinical. He doesn’t strike me as anyone who would finesse his way into a room. He’d just break the door down and, if that didn’t work, he’d burn everything to the ground.

This man, though, is calculating. Sly. He has black hair, black eyes, and a thick black moustache. He watches everyone in the room like a hawk. No one needs to tell me he’s the one in charge.

“Walsh, this is the young lady I was talking to you about.” Sutherburg gestures to me.

My eyes widen. They were talking about me?

“What exactly is this visit about?” Alistair asks, barely managing to sound polite.

Sutherburg yips like an excited puppy. “I couldn’t stop thinking about Miss Jones’s proposal. It was inspired. Printing real stories on the flaps of all Baby Box packages? It’s branding. It’s personal. It’s out of the box.” He chortles, flashing big teeth. “Forgive the pun.”

Alistair’s face does not give his thoughts away, but his knee does a little jump. I catch it because I’m sitting close to him. And because my nerves are jumping under my skin too.

“You gave the impression that you weren’t pleased at the meeting.”

“Oh, it wasn’t that. I couldn’t sign you on immediately because I had to talk to Walsh.” He gestures to the sly-faced man. “He’s ultimately in charge of big promotions like this. And since the boxes will need to be altered, we’d need his okay. This kind of change involves the production team as well as our PR team.”

I lean forward. “So… you liked my idea?”

“Loved it.” Sutherburg beams. “I thought it was fantastic.”

I twist my head around and shoot Alistair a victorious look.

He grunts. “You could have informed us over the phone.” His eyes move to Walsh. “Why visit in person?”

“We need to clarify some things.”

“What things?”

Walsh’s voice is heavy and cultured. “I wanted to read the proposal, but there was none at hand. I was informed that you, Mr. Alistair, had a problem with your wife’s story being printed. Given the matter is so sensitive, I came to speak to you personally about it.”

I scoot to the edge of my chair. “We’d prefer that none of the stories feature his wife. That’s how we came up with the angle of using everyday women.”

Walsh’s eyes land on me and linger for longer than they need to. An uncontrollable urge to punch the guy rushes inside me. Who does he think he’s looking at?

“The problem,” Alistair says, his tone hard and scorching, “is the amount of information displayed. I don’t have a problem with Claire’s story reaching more people. I simply want no mention of our daughter.”

Walsh jerks his gaze to Alistair. “That’s a difficult request given our boxes are for mothers.”

“Nothing is difficult when you’re the one calling the shots. Claire’s story might inspire mothers to reconnect with the dreams they gave up when they had their children.”

Walsh’s lips flicker in a cold smile. “You make a good point, Alistair.”

The men hold a staring contest.

An alarm goes off in my head. Pretty soon, they’ll jump on the table and start beating their chests.

A knock sounds at the door.

The intern shuffles in.

Glad for a reprieve from the caveman routine, I hop up to help her.

“Let me take this,” I say, grabbing the tray.

“Thanks,” she whispers, her cheeks flushed.

I watch her scurry out, wondering if it would be more prudent to follow her. When I turn around, I notice Walsh peering at my backside. His eyes lift immediately and he smiles without shame.

My annoyance meter jumps to ten, but I don’t let it show. Belle’s Beauty has another shot at a partnership with Baby Box. There’s no way I’m screwing this up.

‘There’s a time and place for everything’. My dad taught me that. Sometimes, I need to don my warrior armor. Sometimes, I put up with perverted old men for the sake of the end goal.

“Mr. Alistair.” I hand him his coffee first. Not because he’s my boss. It’s because Walsh is getting on my nerves, so I need to rebel in some way. “Mr. Sutherburg.” I offer the coffee to him next.

“Thank you, Miss Jones.”

“And Mr…”

A pale hand dashes out and grabs my wrist before I can get the mug to its rightful place. The hand belongs to Alistair and his grip on me is firm.

I whip my head around, stunned. What is he doing?

Without tearing his eyes off Walsh, Alistair guides me back to the sofa. I almost stumble, but he doesn’t give me the time to lose my balance. In a blink, he hauls me down beside him, closer than before, and grabs the coffee from the tray.

“Here.” He tosses the cup at Walsh. “Let me.”

I’m surprised the cup doesn’t spill all over Walsh’s expensive suit. The coffee remains in the mug, and the ceramic stops just before skidding to the edge of the table.

Walsh’s lips hitch up at the corners. He takes the coffee by the handle and sips it calmly.

Sutherburg clears his throat. “Well, uh, Mr. Alistair, you know that Baby Box has an engaged audience. Our buyers will continue to purchase the products they enjoy. You can think of us like a recommendation system—”

“I’m aware of your company’s strengths, Mr. Sutherburg, but there are some things I will not compromise on.” His eyes are on Walsh.

I have no idea what’s gotten into my boss, but Sutherburg is here, begging us to work with him. We can’t let this opportunity pass us by. This is my chance to redeem myself and prove I’m an asset to this company.

“Mr. Walsh, you came all this way.” I stuff my disgust deep inside and smile prettily at him. “I’m honored that you and Mr. Sutherburg approve of my idea, and I’m excited to see it come to life.”

Alistair’s eyes bore a hole through my skull. What? Am I not supposed to speak here either? He’s the one who told me to attend the meeting.

“No agreements have been made yet,” Walsh says, giving Alistair a pointed look.

He glowers in return.

I nudge him in the side. “Mr. Alistair?”

“No.”

“No?” Sutherburg nearly falls out of his chair.

“I think what he means to say is that no one will keep him from this amazing opportunity.” Nervous laughter pours from my lips. “Right?”

Walsh nods at me. “Miss Jones, I think your ability to interpret your boss’s real thoughts is spot on.”

“Thank you.” I clear my throat.

“You’re quite talented. It’s such a waste to see a young and…” his eyes slide over my body, “generous asset put to waste under Alistair’s care.”

“Are you poaching my assistant in front of my eyes, Walsh?” Alistair spits.

Walsh rises and buttons his suit. “I’ve heard what I need to hear and I think a partnership between Belle’s Beauty and Baby Box is the right call. If we can hammer out the details, Alistair, I’ll send over the contract.”

I jump to my feet as well. “Thank you.”

Alistair remains seated.

“Here,” Walsh approaches me and offers a business card, “call me if you ever get tired of Alistair’s frosty mug. I think you’ll be very satisfied with my terms.”

I throw up in my mouth.

Alistair lurches to his feet, his face stormy. I recognize that look and quickly step in front of him, barring his way so Walsh and Sutherburg can make their exit.

When the door clicks shut, I whirl on him. “Were you trying to sabotage the deal?”

No response.

“Hello?” I wave a hand.

It’s like talking to a chiseled, absolutely gorgeous wall.

Suddenly, he raises his hand, palm up.

I stare at him. “What do you want?”

He arches an eyebrow, still looking annoyed.

I let out a deep breath. Who did I offend to have earned a boss like this? Seriously, I’ll go back and repent on my knees if I have to.

“What? What?” I wave my arms around in frustration.

Alistair plucks Walsh’s business card from me. In two quick snaps of his fingers, the business card is in three pieces. Two more snaps and it’s in five.

I blink in shock. “The hell is wrong with you?”

Yes. He’s my boss.

And yes, I probably shouldn’t yell.

But to hell with propriety. He’s the one crossing the line this time.

“Did you plan on taking him up on his offer?”

“That has nothing to do with you.”

Alistair growls. He’s a well-dressed psycho. Hazel eyes violently shout his displeasure. I get lost in the threads of brown and gold. Fury trapped in shifting emerald and mud.

He keeps staring at me without saying a word.

Anger shifts inside my chest, underlined by something else. I feel like I’m drowning in fire and electricity.

My breath turns heavy. “How many times do I have to tell you that. You. Don’t. Own. Me.”

“And how many times do I have to tell you.” He stalks closer until he’s in my personal space. “You don’t speak in these meetings unless I give you permission to.”

“Screw you.”

“You care to say that again?” His face is practically on top of mine.

My breath hits the air in quick beats, drumming in time to my racing heart. A tick in his jaw draws my eye there. His face is sharp and dangerous. His mouth is a warning. Thick and full. Promising delight and disaster.

Should I bite them or kiss them?

Awareness singes the air between us. I can’t hear my own thoughts over how hard my heart is pounding.

He’s your boss, Kenya.

The reminder forces me back a step. Edging away from him to keep my wits about me, I frown. “Walsh is a jerk, but jerks are everywhere.”

“He’s not just a jerk. He’s been a persistent enemy ever since the early days of Fine Industries. His tech company folded. Mine didn’t. And even up to now he’s had it out for me.”

“He’d be stupid to let his personal feud with you get in the way of this deal.” I give him a pointed stare. “Besides, this isn’t Fine Industries. This is Belle’s Beauty. Partnering with Baby Box is a good move. You said so yourself and I agree.” Not that my opinion seems to matter to him. “I know I can convince them not to publish your daughter’s information. Let’s not beat around the bush or try to act like we don’t need them. You know we do.”

He turns abruptly and rubs his temples. I wonder if his headache is back. He lumbered into work this morning looking like a microwaved corpse. I don’t have to imagine how hard this man is working. It’s right there on his gorgeous face.

I gave him the headache pills because, if he kicks the bucket, I lose my job.

Also… he doesn’t seem to have anyone else taking care of him.

But that’s not because I care about him.

That’s just plain human decency. Something Alistair seems to lack.

“I’ll think about it,” he says finally.

I brighten and tiptoe in front of him. “Does that mean we’re making a deal with Baby Box?”

“It means you’ll have double the work. I expect you to get everything done for the Baby Box deal and continue with the in-store promotion.”

My eyes narrow. “You’re punishing me for getting the deal with Baby Box?”

He leans so close that I hold my breath. Lips quirking, he says, “Congratulations, Miss Jones.”

My heart flogs my chest.

There’s no denying it. Holland Alistair is truly my worst enemy.

“So he’s taking the deal with Baby Box?” Sunny asks me when I drag myself to her apartment and flop into the couch.

“Yup.”

“And he expects you to manage the in-store promotion and handle the Baby Box stuff?”

“That’s right.”

“Everything?” Her eyes widen.

I put my head in her lap and sigh. “Everything.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Her knee flaps around, sending my head flying.

I jerk up. “Can you not?”

“Can you not?” Her eyes flash angrily. “You’re just gonna let him steamroll over you like that?”

“What other choice do I have?”

“You blast his backside all over the news! He’s a billionaire. The tabloids will eat that up.”

“He’s already threatening me with a lawsuit, and you want to give him fuel to sue me for defamation?”

Her eyes narrow. “I mean… when you put it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“I appreciate the thought.”

“We can post anonymously.”

“Not worth it. He’s got an army of lawyers on payroll.” I gesture to her couch. “And I’m bunking with my best friend because I don’t even have a car to sleep in.”

“Hey, even if you had a car, I wouldn’t let you sleep in it.”

I sling an arm over my eyes. “I’m screwed.”

“What’s his deal anyway? Why is he punishing you for saving the Baby Box deal?”

“He’s defending his daughter’s honor, I guess,” I mumble.

She jerks on my arm, tugging me to sit up. “Your lunatic boss has a kid? Like an evil spawn or an actual human being?”

“She’s a human being. A little girl. He protects her like she’s his last breath. You should have seen the way he stood up to Walsh. Baby Box was offering us a deal and he was about to turn it down to protect her.”

“Whoa.” Sunny flops back, her eyes on the ceiling. “I had no idea. There was no mention of Alistair’s kid online.”

“I know.” And given his behavior today, it makes sense why she’s out of the spotlight. I don’t know any reporters who’d be stupid enough to publish a story about her.

“No wonder he flipped his lid the day you mentioned her in the Baby Box pitch.”

“Hey, I didn’t mention her.”

Sunny waves a hand dismissively.

“But you’re right. I felt literal chills go up my spine.” I bring a pillow to my face and moan into it. “His attitude is trash, but I can’t deny that I shouldn’t have brought up his family.”

“His wife died a few years ago, right? That means his daughter must be a toddler.”

“I don’t know. We didn’t discuss her.”

Sunny blows out a breath. “Man, that’s tough.” She glances at me. “Can you handle all that work?”

“If I skip my meals and sleep for three hours like he does, maybe.”

“Ugh.”

I scramble up. “What if I take off in the middle of the night?” My eyes light up with a wild sheen. I grab her wrists. “We could change our names and go live in Belize. Think about it.” I lower my voice as I paint the picture. “We can swim in the Caribbean Sea. Lounge on the beach. Sleep in hammocks and listen to the waves crash against the shore.”

“I’m not sleeping in a hammock, girl.”

“We can rent a nice place then. You have money?”

“I have student loans. Does that count?”

I drop my shoulders. “Do not remind me about my loans.”

“Why do I get the feeling that your boss is crazy enough to find us if we run?”

“Probably because you have killer intuition and he would. He’d probably lock me in the file room and have me alphabetize everything.”

“How did you get mixed up with someone like him?”

“I have no idea.” I bawl into her shoulder.

She pats my hair, pushing through thick curls in order to massage my scalp. “There, there. It’s not the end of the world. You can do the impossible.”

“I doubt it. He’s making sure I suffer. He even has me going around to the marketing team, asking for their coffee orders. It’s humiliating. If I wanted to fetch people’s coffee, I’d work at a coffee shop.”

“I could totally see you at a coffee shop,” Sunny says, pulling out her phone and scrolling.

“No way. I’d drink all our stock and probably juice myself up so bad I’d fall into cardiac arrest.”

“True…” She narrows her eyes. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“I wish I’d never met the guy.”

“Just take a break and forget about him.” Sunny casually taps her phone screen. “This weekend, I’ll take you to a nice restaurant… oh damn. She didn’t.”

I propel myself up. “What is it?”

Sunny tries to hide the phone from me, but I snatch it out of her hands.

“Kenya, no!” She moves to grab it back.

I look at the screen and all the blood drains from my face. There’s a picture of my sister with her hand out to the camera. The caption reads ‘I said yes’. Drake is in the background, on his knees. And on Sasha’s finger is a giant diamond ring.

The world rocks under my feet.

“They’re… getting married?”

Sunny bites down on her lip.

My blood runs cold. Memories flash before my eyes.

“I’ll learn to cook.”

“Don’t bother, baby. I’ll cook for you.”

“You spoil me, Drake.”

“It’s what I love to do.”

“How about this? We’ll have a rule. You cook. I clean.”

“Deal. As long as you throw in an apron that says ‘kiss the cook’.”

“I can’t wait to be your wife.”

“One day, baby. One day.”

My heart stutters and I don’t even register when Sunny pries the phone from my trembling fingers.

She tucks it behind the pillow and grumbles, “What the hell is wrong with her? Does she not have a lick of sense? Is she seriously marrying her sister’s ex-boyfriend?”

“Sunny.” I swallow hard.

She pounces on my hand and holds it tightly. “Tell me what you want me to do. Even if it means I go to jail tonight, we can get her back. She deserves all the horror you can think of.”

“I’m tired. Do you mind if I go to bed early?”

“What?” Her eyes search mine and then her mouth falls into a frown. “Sure. You don’t have to ask me.”

I rise woodenly and plod away from the living room.

Ice flows through my veins. I know I should feel things. Anger. Pain. Betrayal. Since finding Drake and my sister together, I’ve run the gamut of those emotions. Dove so deeply into them that I found their roots and inspected those too.

But this…

I’m numb. Too numb to make sense of it all.

Is it jealousy? I don’t think so. The burning sensation that comes when I’m envious is absent.

It’s not sorrow or even anger.

I stumble to the bathroom and go through the motions of brushing my teeth. My arm feels heavy. The toothbrush feels like a boulder. Everything takes a lot more effort.

I said yes.

Sasha was beaming in the picture. Glowing with love. The smile on Drake’s face was large and warm too.

How long have they been together? How is he already proposing? He dragged his feet with me. We were together for so long and all he did was talk about marriage. He never once acted on it. It was just a promise. A carrot dangling on the edge of a stick.

I curl into bed and stare at the darkness surrounding me.

My phone rings.

I don’t want to reach for it, but I pluck it from the nightstand where it was charging. My fingers press against the cold shell. It’s freezing when I put it to my face.

“Hello?”

“You answered,” Sasha says.

My eyes burst open. “I wouldn’t have if I knew it was you.”

Silence fills the line.

I should hang up, but I keep seeing those words.

I said yes.

It was a gorgeous ring. Something he definitely didn’t pick up at a store. It seemed antique. Expensive but with a story behind it. A family heirloom. The one from his grandmother?

His mother told me about it once. His great-grandparents were separated when his great-grandfather went to war. He left the ring with his girlfriend and told her that he’d be back for it.

She kept the ring safe through the cold nights. When his letters stopped coming. And even when she heard that there had been a bomb where his squadron was stationed.

Months later, a man knocked on her door and, when she opened it, he was on his knees in front of her.

It was one of the most romantic stories I’d ever heard.

That ring, his great-grandparents’ legendary ring, is on my little sister’s finger.

And now her voice is in my ear.

It’s the voice that used to wake me up in the mornings, singing songs she’d made up on her guitar. It’s the voice that called out for me when she was sick, needing something other than our parents’ smothering love to tether her to this world. It’s the voice that broke when her body was tired from the chemo.

She’s my family.

And she’s getting married to my boyfriend.

“Did you see it?” she asks tentatively.

It takes me a while to respond. My eyes are burning, but I tell myself I won’t cry again.

“I guess you did,” Sasha mumbles. “I was hoping I could talk to you before then, but I didn’t have the courage.”

“Don’t expect me to say congratulations.”

“I know we’re in a really bad place,” Sasha whimpers, “but I’d love if you’d be my maid of honor.”

My body jerks in surprise. The phone slips off my face and leans against the pillow.

Did I hear that right? Or is my brain playing tricks on me?

“Kenya, you’re my best friend. When I felt like life wasn’t worth living, you gave me the strength to hold on.” She sniffs. “Remember when we’d lie down in the hospital bed, side-by-side? I told you once that I missed seeing the stars. The windows in my room were small and it felt like I was in prison. You brought a projector for me. You brought the stars to my hospital room.”

I lose the battle with sorrow.

A tear drops down my cheek, followed by another.

I’m weary.

Down to my bones.

I don’t feel like myself. Normally, the world is sunny and warm. I focus on the bright side of things because that’s where I feel the most at peace.

But it’s been tougher and tougher to get in touch with that side of my personality. Maybe I’m just growing up. Or maybe my optimism is being smothered by betrayal and pain.

“I don’t want to talk right now.”

“At least think about it. Please? It won’t be the same without you there.”

I hang up before she can hear me crying. I hate every single tear that falls from my eye. Hate it with a passion.

The door creaks open and Sunny walks in. The way she moves across the room, I know she heard, and I know she’s fuming. But she doesn’t rant at how selfish Sasha is. She climbs into bed and wraps her arms around me.

“It’s okay to cry, Kenya.”

“I’m not crying,” I argue.

“You don’t have to be Miss Sunshine all the time. No one expects you to keep all that hurt in. No one.” She pats my hair and soothes me. “It’s okay to cry.”

I sob, my heart breaking all over again. It shouldn’t feel this fresh every single time. Don’t wounds heal eventually? When will mine cake up and dry? When will it stop feeling like my heart is tearing open?

“She asked me…” I breathe hard, “to be her maid of honor.”

Sunny’s arms tighten around me. “That selfish piece of—”

“I can’t do it.”

“Of course you can’t. She’s got a serious problem if she thinks you’d ever say yes to that.”

“I don’t want to cry anymore.” Sitting up, I use the sleeve of my T-shirt to dry my tears. “It’s pathetic.”

“It’s never pathetic to cry. That’s you expressing your pain. If you keep that bottled up inside, it’ll explode. And that’s not healthy.” She pats my cheek.

I smile. “What did I do to deserve a friend like you? You’re so much more mature than me.”

“Mature?” Her eyes flash with something. Shame? Regret? “I wouldn’t say that. All I did was make mistakes, but it taught me a few things.”

I laugh. “You’re kidding, right? What mistakes did you make? Weren’t you always Miss Perfect?” My tone is light. “Everyone in school came to you for advice, for help. You were a refuge for the underdog. Weren’t you like that even before we met?”

Sunny smiles along, but there’s a hidden darkness behind it. “No, I wasn’t always like that. There was a period in my life when I was just like Sasha. I thought I could do no wrong, even if I was out of line. That’s why what your sister is doing bothers me so much. She’s trying to bully you on purpose. You can’t give in to her.”

I glance away, my heart bleeding all over the floor. Sasha is family. Even if I want to, I’ve never said ‘no’ to her before. And I’m not sure I can start now.

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