“There’s nothing we can do until morning,” Dad says, puffing out his chest with an air of authority. “We’ll call a tow service tomorrow. For now, join us for a drink, Mr. Constantine, and let me know your intentions for my daughter.”
The Terror Triplets scowl my way and Manda frowns. They’re not used to Dad taking the lead. Something about seeing his daughter with the richest man in the city, though, has him going into protective papa bear mode. Because I’m not a child, I don’t stick my tongue out at the Mannfords. It takes every ounce of self-control, though, because I am petty.
“Certainly, Mr. Elliott,” Winston agrees with a nod. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”
Everyone files back into the brownstone. I expect the triplets to storm off to their rooms to pout and plot revenge. Instead, they hover nearby like vultures, ready to swoop in and pick the meat from my bones. They’re practically salivating for the opportunity.
Winston sits on the loveseat, pulling me down next to him. His protective arm wraps around me, holding me close. It does wonders for my erratic heart. Knowing he has my back against those monsters means the world to me. We negotiate a lot in our relationship, but this seems to come free and natural for him.
So why doesn’t he let it just happen?
Why keep me at arm’s length by offering to get me an apartment?
While Dad brings out a bottle of wine, I watch Manda closely. Her nostrils flare, and her dark eyes are liquid fury. But she doesn’t speak out. Since my dad isn’t trying to beat Winston’s ass, it makes me wonder if she even told Dad about the words she discovered on my stomach. Manda doesn’t seem the sort to hold back information without a purpose. Question is, what’s her purpose by not telling Dad? I’d think she’d want to further drive a wedge between me and my father.
“We attended your thirty-seventh last night,” Dad says to Winston, handing him a glass of red wine. “You do realize you’re old enough to be her father.”
The triplets glare at me, and Manda makes a disgusted sound under her breath. Winston simply chuckles. Low, dark, and evil.
“I realize this, yes,” Winston throws back, his voice icy and hard. “Though, I think you have it wrong. She’s my assistant and maid.”
I try not to flinch at the reality of his words.
The word you’re looking for is whore, Win. I’m your whore.
Dad scoffs, shaking his head, gesturing at the way Winston holds me. “And I wasn’t born yesterday, Constantine. Cut the shit. We both know you’re Ash’s boyfriend.”
I bark out a surprised laugh and sneak a look at Winston. The twitch of his jaw tells me he’s entertained by my amusement, but he doesn’t let anyone else know.
“If I were Ash’s boyfriend, that would be a problem why?” Winston challenges. “She’s not a little girl anymore.”
Dad bristles and furrows his brow. “She just turned eighteen.”
“I’m fully aware of her age, Mr. Elliott.” Winston sips his wine and then nods at Scout. “There won’t be any retaliation for what happened here tonight, will there?”
His words catch Dad off guard. Dad glances at me, sees my worried expression, then darts his eyes over to Scout who’s practically purple with rage. He straightens and shakes his head in vehemence.
“Of course not,” Dad growls, his glare pinning Scout. “The boys know it was an accident.”
“See to it that they do,” Winston clips out. “They seem to step in where they’re not wanted when it concerns my Ash.”
My Ash.
I give Winston the heart eyes as he calls it, because in moments like these hope shines through the cracks of his icy façade, contradicting all his cold words. He doesn’t look at me, though I can tell he wants to, but he’s in a staring contest with Dad.
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to,” Dad says, anger lacing his words.
“Boys, go to your rooms,” Manda bites out, her tone venomous.
I’m not deluded into thinking she’s angry with them. I see it for what it is. To protect her young. Scout holds my stare for a moment, unspoken promises of retaliation dancing between us, before he storms off after his brothers.
“As I said before, the boys aren’t used to having a girl in the house—” Manda’s words are cut off when Winston interrupts her.
“They ruined her dress and saw to it that she was unable to go to my party.” Winston sips his wine. “Let’s call it what it is, Dr. Mannford. Assault.”
I freeze, no longer able to look at my dad. Yesterday’s events come crashing down on me, making me shudder.
“They mentioned she had an issue with her dress, but my boys didn’t assault her,” Manda says quickly. “Ash tends to exaggerate sometimes. Tell him, honey.”