Page 23 of Brat Baby (Sugar Life #1, #3)

Emery

My heart is beating so hard, I can feel my chest moving beneath my shirt. I think I might be having an actual heart attack. I can barely breathe as a tingling sensation races up and down my spine. And I am way to fucking hot, my insides feel like they are boiling.

I can do this. It’s just a fucking outfit and a bit of attention. Once I make it to my seat, only Derek will be looking.

And it’s not like I have the shirt tied up under my boobs like last time.

Everything is all tucked in, and I even put on a pair of pantyhose to make the pleated skirt less of an issue.

I don’t remember purchasing those, but whatever, happy to have them now.

It was probably something added by the shop assistant after my daddies dropped all that cash on me.

Because that’s what they are, my daddies. I’m no longer allowing myself to float around in limbo, unsure what to call them. They are mine. No more of this half-in, half-out bullshit.

When I’d told Oaks about the weekend and my plan for today, she was enraged on my behalf, then backed me up with a little too much support.

She helped me primp and preen this morning, until I had nothing left to primp or preen.

Not to mention the extras, like the massive white ribbon she tied around the half-updo ponytail she pulled my hair into before curling the bottom of my hair in huge, flowing ringlets.

Or the shoes. This campus was not made for the black pumps she lent me to wear today. I almost broke my ankle walking here. Twice.

It was all a bit much, if you asked me.

But whatever. This is just the beginning of everything I plan to put them through.

They spent the last week punishing me for something I didn’t even know I was supposed to tell them.

My theory is that, if I’m in trouble, I may as well be in trouble for something fun and that I actually did on purpose.

A quick check through the window of the dark study room I’m hiding in makes my breath catch. Fucking finally.

Derek and Justin come down the hall, both staring at something Justin is holding, discussing whatever the hell it is. Honestly, my eyes are stuck on Derek, and I can’t force myself to look away.

I’m frozen in place, lost to the view of him as he slowly approaches.

The undone brown jacket revealing a blue-and-white-patterned dress shirt is really working for him.

And fuck, the beginnings of a beard he has going?

Somehow, it’s making his features harder, which causes my insides to settle their trembling, even though I’m still nervous as fuck.

My grip on the straps of my backpack is tight enough that the firm fabric cuts into my palms. I track him with my eyes as he passes the windows, not daring to move in case he catches the movement.

The thing that I don’t expect is how fucking hard it is to not rip open the door and throw myself into his arms.

But nope. That is not the plan.

That would, in fact, ruin the plan.

I shuffle to the other side of the window and watch as they make it to the classroom door, disappearing through it. My eyelashes flutter shut as I try to get the electricity running through my system under control. There are sparks flying in all directions, and nausea is trying to take me down.

Actively flaunting authority is so not my thing. Putting myself out there, right in the center of things? Hell, no. Intentionally making my foster parents or case workers notice me only ever led to a situation that now requires a box that is buried deep in the darkest parts of my mind.

So, to do what I’m about to do is…

I mentally smack myself and stiffen my spine.

No. That line of thinking has to go. It does not fit the vibe of this new version of me. Plus, I’m not a scared little girl at the whims of the adults around her anymore. I get to choose the direction of my life now. No one else. And my daddies are my true north.

I’ve done a little research about this, but what keeps coming back to me is that random post I found that first Friday. The one about the baby girl acting like a brat when she needs her daddy to notice that she requires a good hard fuck to bring her back into line.

And that’s what I want.

Yes, the fuck. But mostly, them seeing that I need them. I want my daddies to notice me, to see me, to be so angry at me that they absolutely must correct my behavior. And the only way to get that reaction is to act out.

This is me acting out. Well, step one, anyway. I’m going to continue to escalate until they all come back to me. Or tell me, in no uncertain terms, that they truly are done. No more rewards randomly showing the fuck up. And definitely no more weekend payments.

No more mixed signals.

This is it. Either my plan works, or it doesn’t. My aim is to have them back with me by midterms. If I haven’t managed to get them to reinstate the contract in its entirety by then, I’ll wave the proverbial white flag and move on with my life.

Anything after that would be pure humiliation. While I may love watching reality TV shows, I did not sign up to star in one.

Tapping the screen of my phone, I check the time. A couple of minutes past the start of the hour. Perfect. Derek will be wondering where I am. Which is the ideal time to make my entrance.

I touch my necklace, then my bracelet for a bit of courage, before dropping my hand to the doorknob and leaving the room.

The hallway is empty, everyone having settled into whatever room they are in, and my heels clack as I walk. They aren’t quite stilettos, but they are high enough that my legs and ass look freaking amazing.

I don’t let myself pause to give in to the raging flutter of the butterflies that have taken over my entire being when I get to the door. I simply push on the handle and walk into the room with my head held high.

The class is underway, as expected, and my sudden entrance causes Derek to falter.

It takes everything I have not to look his way as I attempt to sashay along the front of the room to the stairs in the middle.

It feels odd as I put a little extra something into my sway, but I can feel the skirt swishing across the backs of my thighs.

“You will have your first quiz on Wednesday…”

Hundreds of eyes stare at me, and it makes my skin crawl, but I keep my chin up high as the pleated skirt I’d worn as the fuck toy shifts with each of my steps. I keep my pace steady, not rushed. I want him to get a good look at what he’s missing. And if everyone else sees, then so be it.

Their stares will probably add a little something to it, what with how much he enjoys watching.

That thought makes me grin as I turn my back on Derek and go up the few steps to my regular spot, which is thankfully empty. The rest of my plan only works if I’m sitting right where he can’t ignore me.

I take my seat and slowly place my things on the table, not being quiet or quick about it. The room remains silent, except for a few coughs. Once I have my laptop open, I glance up at Derek and want to simultaneously smirk and shrink back in my seat.

Which does absolutely nothing for the nausea still curdling in my stomach, but I force myself to ignore that and offer my best attempt at a serene smile. Faking it till I make it and all that.

A vein throbs in his forehead, and his jaw is so tightly clamped, I’m concerned for his teeth.

When he talks, his words are clipped, and if my plan wasn’t to provoke him into a reaction, I’d be a terrified fucking mess.

But, luckily for me, that is the plan. “Are you done, Ms. Nicholas? May we restart the class?”

I let my smile grow into a smirk. “Yes, you may, Professor King.”

That vein gives a solid throb, and he breaks eye contact to stare at his laptop for a moment, both hands death gripping either side of the lectern. There is murmuring from the other students, but I ignore it. Justin looks between Derek and me, clearly lost as to what is happening right now.

Derek cuts a look in his direction, and Justin immediately stands, taking over the class while Derek turns his back to us. I’m fucking delighted with his reaction. This is exactly what I was hoping for when I decided that I’d had enough of being a good girl for them.

Now I’m ready to see what being a brat gets me.

Casually, I take a few notes about the upcoming quiz on Wednesday, but mostly, I watch Derek.

He fishes something out of his pocket, and if I wasn’t watching as intently as I am, I would have missed the fact that it’s his phone. My gaze bounces between him and my phone, conveniently placed on my table, ready to accept whatever messages may come its way.

His shoulders are tense beneath the brown fabric of his suit jacket, but then he relaxes and turns back to face the room. Some of the tension has eased, but there is no smile on his face. Nope. Still a tight expression that would normally have me scurrying out of the room.

Not this time. They wanted to play stupid games with me? Well, now, they are going to win stupid prizes.

I wait for my phone to buzz, but it doesn’t. Disappointment doesn’t hit. Instead, a tidal wave of satisfaction flows straight over me. I’m willing to bet every gift and reward they’ve given me and all the future ones I am yet to receive that he just warned them that I’ve thrown down the gauntlet.

I settle back in my chair and don’t bother to smother how smug I’m feeling.

I think I am really going to enjoy playing this game with them.