Page 50 of So This Is War
So much guilt that I actually felt nauseous at one point and sat on the edge of my bed with a trash can in hand.
Yeah, this guy, hovering over a trash can, ready to puke.
Probably not the image you want of me, right? Well, fuck, I don’t want it either. It’s humiliating. That’s not the man I am. That’s something Eli would do.
Or perhaps Pacey.
I don’t throw up.
Yet, there I was last night, ready to hurl over making Wylie run the stupidest errand ever.
Fucking different water. I don’t even know if that’s a thing. I was flying by the seat of my pants on that one. I actually got the idea by looking up stupid tasks personal assistants had to do. It was a Buzzfeed article providing outrageous stories from assistants. I couldn’t believe the amount of insane tasks humans make other humans do.
But because my coach has my balls in a vise grip, I don’t have much choice.
I shift in my seat and try to conjure up the image of Coach Wood blessing his underwear this morning so he seems less intimidating. If it wasn’t for the throbbing vein in his bald head drawing my attention, the underwear blessing might have worked.
“I had her grab me bagels from a place forty-five minutes away . . . at one in the morning.”
Coach Wood smiles.Sick bastard.“Did she do it?”
“She did, and then . . . well, I didn’t have one of the bagels this morning.” Not because I was being an ass, but because I didn’t think I could bring myself to even look at the bagels. That’s how guilty I felt.
Coach lets out a short but deep chuckle. “Made her get bagels at one in the morning and didn’t even eat one. What a fucking dick.”
Nerves shoot up my arms as I say, “That’s what you wanted, though, right? You wanted me to be a dick?”
“Yes. That’s perfect. There’s no doubt in my mind that she was cursing your name this morning.”
Great, just what I want.
Although, I would prefer the cursing to be in the context of, “Oh God, Levi, oh fuck. . .”
But we all know that’s not going to happen.
“Yeah, she seemed pretty tired. Felt kind of bad.”
The smile fades from his face as he stares me down. “Don’t feel bad for her. Don’t feel anything for her. This is a job. This isn’t personal. You do the job, and you move on. Don’t feel any sort of emotion toward my daughter, understood?”
I gulp. “Yup. No emotion. Completely emotionless. No need to worry about emotions with me. I don’t even know what they are. I’m an empty?—”
“Shut up.”
“Right. Yup.” I grip the chair’s arms, trying to keep calm.
“What else have you done? Has she started on the rewrite of the book?”
“Yes, I gave it to her this morning. Presented her with the stain to get out. Told her about the pencils and the Skittles. She has also been assigned my social media, calendar, fan mail, and all of that admin stuff. On top of that, she’s getting me food, stocking up, and I think I’ll have her food prep for me as well. Oh, and I tasked her with getting me a plant.”
“A plant?”
I nod. “To add more life to my apartment. You see, there’s a certain balance you need when it comes to your living space. . .” My voice fades when I see his jaw tense.
He doesn’t want to hear about living space balance, you moron.
“Let me guess, you want me to shut up?” I ask.
He shifts in his seat and folds his hands together. “Keep her fucking busy. Run her ragged. Make her regret she ever took this position. I’ll put together another list and email it to you. Continue to be demanding. I talked to her last night, and her hopes seemed high. I didn’t like it.”
