Page 325 of Summer Heat
With a sinking heart I realize he thinks I’m at school. “Oh. Right.”
When Mr. Stewart comes on, I can’t help the strange sadness that creeps into my voice. “He sounds great.”
“It’s very common,” he says, his voice sympathetic. “We see it all the time. Family wants to tend to their own, but it’s a huge burden, a constant stress, and all without the necessary training. Our nutritional counselor has worked with a private chef to develop meals that are best for him. And the physical therapist is our very best.”
Somehow that makes me feel worse, even though I know that doesn’t make sense. I was killing myself making sure my father’s meds were right, that his IV was right, that he was comfortable and clean. And it had all been making him worse because I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. These trained people know what they’re doing. And the only way I can afford them is by fucking Gabriel Miller.
Only after I hang up do I see the string of increasingly urgent texts from Harper.
It’s me. What’s going on??
Justin just called me. He might have cried. He’s very drunk. CALL ME.
Were you in an auction? Type OMFG for yes or n for no.
Pigeons. Flags. Letter in a bottle. All acceptable forms of communication in this FUCKING EMERGENCY.
I have to laugh at the last text, because it’s so perfectly Harper. And it’s a laugh-or-cry situation, realizing that Justin found out exactly what I’ve done.
And apparently he’s sharing the news.
I’m ruined in Tanglewood. Of course I knew that from the moment I accepted Damon Scott’s proposition. Even if somehow the auction remains a dirty little secret, I can’t face the wealthy upper crust of the city ever again.
But I hoped it would be contained. Like a tiny explosion under a metal dome in a cartoon. Boom! And all that’s left is scorch marks in the shape of a circle.
Except if Justin knows, if Harper knows, then the circle is spreading. I don’t think Harper is going to gossip about me, but shit like this is wildfire. All it has to do is spark to the next tree to keep going.
She answers on the first ring. “Tell me everything, starting from the very beginning.”
Debt. Bills. An auction and a million dollars in escrow. I tell her everything, because I’m desperate for some advice here. “So that’s the story of how I became Smith College’s first hooker.”
She snorts. “You’re definitely not the first, but that’s a story for another day. Now you need to tell me about this Gabriel Miller motherfucker. Is he old? Mean? Has a gold tooth?”
I smile. “Not exactly. He’s actually…”
I’m not sure how to describe his golden eyes, how they can pierce me from across the room. How can I explain the way his broad shoulders and large hands make me feel delicate? “He looks okay. That’s not the problem.”
“Uh-oh,” she says. “Angry wife?”
“God, you are the most jaded. No, he’s not married.” At least I don’t think he is. “He’s the man who turned my father in. Who gave all the evidence to the attorney general so they could prosecute.”
“Oh my God. A do-gooder?”
“It was a revenge thing. My father cheated him.”
“Thank God,” she says, sounding relieved.
“No, we’re not thanking God. Because he hates me.”
“He hates your dad.”
“He hates my family. And he’s already ruined my dad. Money. Reputation. Even physically. In every way possible my father has lost everything.”
“Except his beautiful daughter.”
I wince. “Something like that.”
“And you think he just bought you to get back at your dad.”
