Save Me, Sinners

“I don’t care who you fucked, Jacob. What I care about is that you seem, for reasons that are beyond my comprehension, to be hell-bent on forcing my hand in these matters. Do you want me to disown you? Do you want to be penniless? Are you tired of this life of luxury that I have painstakingly built for you and then laid, like a golden fleece, at your unworthy feet?” He’s getting louder by degrees, and it’s all I can do to keep still, keep my face blank, and not react. Can’t show him any fear.

“I’ve got a Masters in—” I start, ludicrously, intent on somehow arguing that I could manage on my own.

But my father shakes his head. “You think I can’t have another son?” he asks. “You think that if I’m going to cast you out into the cold, I’m going to leave loose strings swaying in the wind? Believe me, Jacob—if I find that I have a need to fuck you, I will do so with such a vengeance that you will never find employment in this country so long as I live.”

“What do you want from me?” It’s the only part of the conversation left to have, really. Reginald didn’t bother with the carrot, which means he’s waving the stick for a reason.

“You are to make good with Janie Hall,” he says. “I don’t care how. You’re to charm her panties off like I have seen you do so often—like I taught you—and you are to sweep her off her feet until she’s literally eating out of the palm of your hand like a good little bitch in heat. Make her pliable. Am I clear?”

I nod once, instead of telling him how utterly impossible a task that is.

“I couldn’t quite hear that,” Reginald says.

“You’ve made your wishes entirely clear, Father,” I say, like a good, properly chastised son. It doesn’t take much.

“And?”

“And, I’ll do it.” I feel sick saying the words. A little whiskey will numb that right over. Which is convenient, since I’ll need several drinks to confront Janie directly.

“Good,” Reginald says. “Do you have a plan?”

“Just now?” I ask.

“I expected you to have a plan when you first approached her,” he says. “Did you not?”

“Of course I did,” I say. “That plan didn’t work. She wasn’t interested.”

“Ah. I see.” My father leans back in his chair and stares at me, his eyes cold and hard, weighing and measuring. Until I bring him Janie Hall’s heart on a platter, I know that he is now, and will until that time, find me wanting.

“I’ll make it happen,” I tell him, and the words are bitter in my mouth. Not only because I don’t want to do this—but because I hate knowing my father has me by the balls.

I know he’ll put them in a jar on the shelf at the slightest provocation, and being his heir apparent is absolutely no defense.

Chapter 57

Janie

The news at Red Hall is not good. Gloria’s bullshit little stunt is, somehow, so much worse than I could have imagined it would be. “Tim,” I say into my phone, desperate to not sound as desperate as I am, “come on. We’ve known each other for six years. You know I want to do this for you, and you know I can make it amazing.”

Tim sighs, and I can already tell I’ve lost. “You know I wish I could, Janie,” he says finally, “but it’s not just my day, you know? And as much as I hate this part of it?

?? well…”

“You don’t want the bad press after the incident with Martin,” I finish for him. “I’m going to strangle that little—”

“I won’t tell the press that’s how you feel,” Tim laughs. It’s short- lived. “Look, I’ll make it up to you some other way. Once all this wedding buzz is over and we can get back to living a normal life, Jenna and I will come by for a visit. I’ll even have Penny leak our plans to the paparazzi.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say. Tim hates the paparazzi, and while I don’t know Jenna very well, I suspect she also does. Most celebrities do. “I mean, you do have to come by, but you don’t have to alert the vultures.”

“It’s fine,” Tim sighs. “They’ll probably find us anyway. They can get some pics of us being friendly. Look… I’m really sorry about changing the venue.”

“I’ll be fine, Tim.” I am not sure of that, but it pays to be optimistic. Most of the time. “Go get married; you two have fun. Just promise me you won’t have your reception at Ferry Lights. I couldn’t handle it.”

“You have my solemn oath,” Time swears. “I’m not setting foot in that shit hole. Love you, girl.”

“Love you, too. Jerk.”

Tim pauses, and I can hear him holding his breath.