CHAPTER125
What the hell?
“Why are you here?” I repeat, grinding my teeth, not even taking a moment to point out that I changed my cell number because of him.
“You’re my kid, Emma,” he shrugs, as if that’s all the excuse he needs. My anger, simmering under my skin, rises a hundred degrees.
“I’m surprised you’re aware of that.” I realize surrounding eyes have looked up in interest, and we are drawing attention, people wondering why I am so hostile.
Crap. I can’t do this here, too public and we have an audience.
PA Emma takes control over shocked and emotional Emma, and I regain instant composure.
“Please come with me so we can talk somewhere private.” I turn on my heel briskly, gripping my fingers together harshly, my nails biting my flesh, but ignore it. I want to throw up; my skin bristles as I sense him move behind me into the elevator and I stand as far away as I can, trying hard to breathe.
“You don’t know what it means to me to actually have you see me,” he slurs, a lop-sided grin on his face, but it does nothing for me.
“Stop talking,” I hiss as the doors close on us, and I face him aggressively now that we’re concealed, my fury revealed. “You can fuck off back to whatever hole you climbed out of, got it? When I get off this elevator, I’m going to have security remove you,” I spit, the venom thick and clear in my voice, revealing my rage, my body barely concealing the anger running through me or the revulsion at his presence.
“Emma, please, I’m your dad,” he whines, defensively lifting his hands, his eyes widening in disbelief at my sudden change in demeanor. So clueless.
“No, you’re fucking not!”
It takes more than a sperm donation to be a father!
He steps back blinking, but I have nothing but seething fury and anger growing from deep within, hatred consuming me like a burning ball of wrath in my stomach.
“You think I don’t know why you’re here?” I laugh sarcastically. “You think I’ve lucked out and got myself a rich man in Jake Carrero. He’s my fucking boss, okay? So, boo on you. I get paid a wage like everyone else. A normal fucking wage that doesn’t even touch on any sort of lavish lifestyle. I am nothing to him except his assistant,” I sneer at him. The urge to shake him comes over me, and tears hit the backs of my eyes as I am consumed with devastation.
“No, no, I’m not here for that, really,” he scrambles, his eyes darting anywhere but to mine. He looks confused and, dare I say it, … disappointed.
Yes, that’s right, asshole, squirm!
“Really?” My voice is dripping with hatred and unconcealed disbelief that he would stoop this low.
“I just want to get to know you. I’ve missed so much.” He’s flailing; he knows he is dive-bombing, his voice lacking conviction. His eyes search the elevator for a point to focus on.
“You’re a fucking liar. You had your chance when I was a kid. Where were you for the last twenty odd years?” I retort, emotion stinging my eyes, my heart aching badly as I try to reign it in.
“I was, ummm, uhhh …” He’s raking his hand through his hair evasively, probably shocked that I’m nothing like my mother. If I was, I would be lying in a hospital bed beside her in Chicago, thanks to Ray Vanquis. The elevator pings and the doors open, but no one’s there to walk in. I turn on him again, unable to calm down at all.
“What do you really want? Be honest. I might actually give it to you if you are,” I test him. He has the grace to look uncomfortable, at least, and shiftily looks away. I can smell booze at this distance, and it’s the first time I notice the yellow-stained whites in his eyes. Maybe he’s a drunk. Maybe it’s drugs. I don’t care!
“I could do with a little help. Get back on my feet, you know?” he answers sheepishly, barely able to look at me.
“You mean money?” I grit my teeth so hard it hurts my jaw. His face flushes and he nods.
“What is my middle name?” I snap suddenly, my frayed emotions kicking in, and teen Emma slides out impulsively.
“Ummm …” He moves back, blinking hard.
“When is my birthday?” I yell loudly, my voice shaking. He gulps and tries to look anywhere except at me.
“Do you even know how old I am?” I scream in his face, fully erupting as his inability to answer consumes me, and my composure dissolves. He looks like he’s going to run. I throw my hands up in exasperation and turn away before I truly explode.
“How much money do you need to get the fuck away from me?” I am so beyond mad that I can barely think straight, heart pounding through my chest and head aching badly. I just want to curl up and cry right now, my body trembling.
“If it’s like that, then as much as you can spare,” he whispers; there’s a hint of success in his tone that hits me like a spear in my chest, utter agony.
I’m floored; I can’t even formulate a response. It Anger rises up inside of me like a volcano about to erupt spectacularly. It’s all-consuming, pushing down any rational thought after the week I’ve had, the month I’ve had, the heartbreak I have sobbed through, my lack of self-worth because of men like this shithead right here.
I spin and impulsively slap him hard across the face with the force of all my pent-up emotions from the last week and all the shit Jake has put me through. The strength of the impact stings my hand and I recoil, gasping in shock as it reverberates like a throbbing pulse through my wrist, shaking me back to sense."
