The words echo in my mind, making me wonder what exactly he had to handle to make that happen.
He clears his throat. “I'll have the paperwork sent to you by the end of the week. Standard confidentiality agreements, internship terms, that sort of thing.”
“I want to review it all before I sign anything,” I say firmly.
“As you should.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “You're a Sanderson, after all.”
I resist the urge to throw my phone across the room because he’s right, and that scares me more than anything.
We discuss a few more details about the summer arrangements—where I'll stay, when I'll start—and then there's a pause.
“Your mother will be pleased,” he says finally, and for a moment, he almost sounds like a normal father. “She's missed you.”
The comment catches me off guard. “Tell her I miss her too,” I say, and I'm surprised to find that I mean it. My parents aren’t horrible people. More like unemotionally efficient. They know what needs to be done and do it. No questions asked.
I’m not like them, though.
“I will. We'll speak again soon, Hunniford.”
Click.
Just like that, it’s over. The deal is struck. The gavel is down.
I lower the phone and stare at it in disbelief.
Tiff and Ella will be safe, but I've just tied myself to my father and his firm for three years.
I stare around the nearly empty lunch hall. Everyone else is talking and laughing while I’m in the corner questioning all my life decisions.
What did I just sign up to? And why do I feel like my father’s smiling right now, somewhere behind a high-rise desk with a glass of bourbon and a chessboard full of pawns?
Something’s not right with Jamie. That much is clear. My father dodged every question about him. I don’t know what’s behind this sudden shift, but I’m determined to find out.
Just three years, I tell myself. A trial run. I can survive three years. I can survive anything for Tiff, Zach, and Ella.
My phone buzzes with a text, pulling me from my thoughts. I expect it to be Zach, asking if I can come over, but instead it's an unknown number.
Unknown:Not even a “thanks” for the heads up?
I sit straighter, my heart pounding.
What?
Before I can process it, another text comes through from the same number.
Unknown:Guess you have to see it for yourself.
Unknown:*Attachment*
Since I’m a glutton for punishment, I open the attachment instead of deleting it. A blurry, zoomed-in photo pops up, and it takes me a second to make sense of it. The blond hair and broad shoulders give him away instantly. It’s Zach, standing on the front porch with one hand jammed into his pocket and the other braced on the porch post. A blonde girl is in front of him. The picture is grainy enough to hide her face, but not the way she’s arching her chest toward him. Zach’s head is angled down.
If I didn’t know him, I might think he’s staring at her boobs. I know better. His shoulders are locked, and he’s subtly leaning away, every inch of him tells me he’s uncomfortable. She either doesn’t see it or doesn’t care. She’s probably just thrilled to be in his space.
Whoever sent itwantsme to believe Zach’s cheating.
What’s new?
It’s not proof. Not even close. It’s just another girl with a Sharpie and a delusion.