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“Five mmmm…” I trailed off. “Five mmm—”
“Having a stroke there, Wilder?”
I looked up to find Harper standing there. My mind was so fried right then, I couldn’t even emotionally register her shitty comment, the smirk on her face, or how much I hated her from our last interaction. I could only stare.
Soon, her eyes narrowed, and she looked around before taking a step forward. “What’s wrong?”
Tears started to fill my eyes as my chest started to rise and fall rapidly.Not now. Not in front of her!
“Oooh!Who do we have here? Is that the streaker?” I heard Becky’s voice calling down the hall before I even saw her approach from behind Harper.
“Move,” Harper said firmly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Go. Now. Get to your apartment.”
I panted several times as the first of what I knew would be many tears fell. “What?”
“You’re about to have an anxiety attack. Unless you want Becky of all people to see you like this, run. Get your ass home.”
“How did you know?” I asked, though I didn’t know why I did or why I cared.
She paused. “I just do. Move your ass. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
I turned on my heel and speed walked out of there. I knew better than to run, but I also knew not to take my sweet ass time.
“What the hell?” Becky said from behind me.
Harper snorted. “You were late to the show. Didn’t you see her? I already had her in tears.” A wicked laugh erupted from Harper, and Becky joined her.
“What did you do to her?”
“Does it even matter? She’s so fucking weird,” Harper fired back. “Leave her be. She’s going home to go cry in her two-hundred thread count pillowcases.”
They both laughed. As I reached the exit, I spared a glance over my shoulder, and I watched Harper leading Becky away. Harper started to look back over her shoulder toward me, but she stopped and faced forward again, tossing her hair and lifting her chin.
I wasn’t quite sure what made her help me, but once again, it put the tiniest flicker of hope in my chest—one I damn well knew I shouldn’t have.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
TEMPERANCE
Iheld on to those checks for three weeks. They were stuck to my fridge with a magnet—a glaring reminder every day of what had happened, howshockinglylittle I knew about my adoptive parents, and what I still needed to do.
Start a new account.
I needed a bank account with no ties to Rick. He’d started one for me before I even arrived in California, and he had all the information for it. He put obscene amounts of money into it weekly—well, obscene tome—and that could be snatched away at the drop of a hat. I never used any of it except to buy expensive ass school uniforms and supplies.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Rick. He’d been very kind to me, and the more we spoke to one another, the more I came to think of him as a father. I tried to keep a respectful distance, but it had grown harder to do. He always seemed to have my back.
But even with my growing trust, I knew it would be stupid to put one-hundred percent blind faith in someone. He could decide one day I’m not worth it and drain the account and leave me broke and penniless. I wouldn’t benow, of course, thanks to Mom’s and Dad’s policies, plus wherever the hell the other five million came from, but there was that worry, anyway.
Not to mention the independence. Harper was completely dependent onDaddyfor money. I didnotwant that. Even without the inheritance, I didn’t want to be forced to wait for Rick’s handouts. I wanted my own money. I wasn’t above getting a job, unlike princess a few doors down.
“Knock, knock,” Justin said as he walked in.
It was more than a little annoying how my breath hitched when I heard his voice flutter through the room.
“In my room!” I called back.
“Not that I’d complain, but you’re not on the floor in your underwear again, are you?”