Conversation, thankfully, steered away from the whole me-dying-of-mortification-thing and Red Sox to more work-related material. Taxes and employees and the whole stimulating shebang. They didn't talk about any of their, for back of better term, illegal enterprises, though not that I blamed them. I wondered how that conversation would go.
"I was wondering, how much you have been selling those illegal guns for?"
"The same amount as I have been selling my coke." Or pot. Or marijuana. Or whatever the hell they were up to these days.
D.O.D. had insisted that I take part in the business.
"You're no longer a little girl," he had told me sternly. "You have to start training to take over the family business."
I snorted. Family business made me think of a sweet, loving family that laughed as they fixed their shop and then came home to meals around the dinner table. I'm pretty sure that most family businesses didn't involve over a hundred shell companies, connections with the mafia, and a date with the drug lord of Mexico. Running the "family business" sounded about as appealing to me as stabbing my eye repeatedly with a rusted spoon would've been. Needless to say, it wasn't appealing.
Still, I behaved like the good girl, the good daughter, that my parents wanted me to be. It wasn't so much to please them as it was to protect myself. When I was good, when I listened and obeyed, they had no reason to punish me.
No reason to send people like Buttlicker to my room.
The mere thought made me tremble as if I had been electrocuted. My hand absently pulled at my sweater sleeves until they covered my hands.
It wasn't long before our meal came, though it was a different waiter from the one earlier that delivered it. Great. The one guy that I actually found attractive, my family had to go and scare him away.
I shouldn't have been surprised. The longest relationship I had...well, that lasted approximately two days. In kindergarten.
You see, I had a little problem (yes, even more of a problem than talking to myself). It involved people. And it involved my lack of talking to them. To some, I came across as a complete and utter bitch. To be completely honest, I kind of was. I didn't have friends; I had minions and wannabes that followed me around like lost puppies. I was the girl that every boy wanted, and every girl wanted to be. The socialite constantly stalked by paparazzi with a slew of hookups in her wake. The trendsetter, the beauty queen, the diva.
I was everything but myself.
It was almost as if I was a player in a video game, but I was being controlled by a monkey on acid. I ran into walls, tripped over air, and ninety-nine percent of the time looked completely lost and oblivious. I often wondered if my life was just a big joke and God and the angels sat up in heaven laughing at me.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Look at this mistake. You see? This is what a human shouldn't be.
It was super empowering.
"How is everything tasting?" Asher reappeared at our table, breaking me from my depressing reverie. His eyes flickered briefly over the other occupants before coming to rest on me. He offered me a crooked smile.
"It's delicious, thank you," I responded, chasing down a bite of my alfredo with a cup of water.
"It's acceptable. The meat's a little dry, however. I would like to speak to the cook about that." D.O.D.'s eyes narrowed. Of course, my dad couldn't go one freaking minute without acting like a complete asshole. And you wonder why I have no friends?
Asher visibly stiffened, but he managed another serene smile.
"Of course. I'll go get him for you right away."
I wanted to tell him that it wasn't necessary, that I understood the restaurant was packed and taking away the head chef in the middle of the dinner-rush was beyond idiotic, but I kept my mouth shut. I tried to convey with my eyes how sorry I was for, well, everything.
Something in my expression must've distracted him, because one second he was staring at me, and the next he was lurching forward. The plate of food he was carrying shattered on the floor, food flying through the air to land in Buttlicker's lap. Dickhead immediately jumped to his feet, surveying Asher as if he was a potential threat.
I felt my body grow cold.
It was obviously an accident, but I knew my father and the people he surrounded himself with. The best-case scenario would be the waiter getting a good old firing. The worst...
Thinking quickly, I threw back my head and let out a lilting laugh. Every eye at the table immediately turned to stare at me. The usual chatter in the restaurant diminished around us until all I could hear was Asher's pounding heart as he picked himself up behind me.
D.O.D. pinched the bridge of his nose.
"What the hell are you laughing at?"
I smoothed my expression into one of icy impassiveness. I called it my bitch face, one that I reserved only for meetings like these. It was a part that I had long since perfected. Bitch me was almost like an extension of my hand.
"I didn't appreciate the way the waiter was ogling me," I said flippantly, scowling at Asher. He blinked at me, momentarily speechless. "So, I taught him a little lesson about respect." I tossed my hair over my shoulder for effect. I had seen girls do it in movies, so I figured why the hell not?
You got this, Adelaide. You're a bad bitch.
D.O.D.'s hands tightened around his cup until I could see his blue veins protruding from his alabaster skin.
"You tripped him."
It wasn't a question.
"I just wanted to teach him some respect, daddy dearest. Isn't that what you always told me?" Yeah, so maybe now I was being a sarcastic bitch instead of just a mean bitch, but I couldn't
