Billionaire Beast

“I really don’t think that right now is a good time,” I tell him. “I’m sorry.”

“Now, just who in the hell do you think you are, young man?” Emma’s father asks. “Boy, you’d better get my daughter or—there you are, sweetheart,” he says, and I turn around to find Emma coming to the door.

“What are you doing here?” she asks. “I told you I didn’t want to see or talk to you again.”

“Young man, if you don’t mind giving us a minute…” Shane says.

I look over at Emma and she gives me a slight, but clear, shake of the head.

“I don’t think I will,” I tell him.

“You know,” Shane says, looking past me at Emma, “I saw that press conference. It was all over the television.”

“Glad you tuned in,” Emma says. “Now get the fuck away from me.”

“That’s quite a tone for a woman to take with her father,” Shane says.

“Look,” I tell him, “we’ve both asked you to go and I would hate to have to call the police. Why don’t we just end the conversation now and we can end this peacefully?”

“Are you threatening me, boy?” Shane asks, and I’m actually rather amused by the way this guy is talking to me.

“I’m not threatening anyone,” I tell him. “I just think it’s for the best that—”

“You know, I think it says a lot about you, Emma,” Shane interrupts, “that you’re willing to let those vile pictures of you out into the world, but you can’t see it in your heart to talk to your own flesh and blood.”

“I’m not going to tell you again,” Emma says. “Get off of my property and stay away from me.”

I can see a little of both sides here. On the one hand, Emma has every right to dismiss her father, especially after how he was when she was growing up. On the other hand, the guy just wants to talk to her. Still, if sides are to be taken, I’m on hers.

“You’re willing to talk to a bunch of reporters about how you got those photos taken of you by your boyfriend,” Shane says, “but you’re not willing to talk to your father. I always knew you’d end up a whore.”

My fists are clenched and one arm is already cocking back when Emma gets between me and her father. I would love to punch the guy until my fist goes through the back of his skull, but Emma’s right to stop me. That’s not going to solve anything.

“Well, looks like the pretty boy’s got a temper,” Shane says, and I scoff.

Exactly what happens next is a bit of a blur.

I call Shane a sick son of a bitch and tell him to leave. He starts yelling at me and the next thing I know, there’s a flash and my right eye feels like it’s about to pop like a stepped-on cherry tomato.

I’ve never actually been punched before.

“Get the fuck out!” Emma is screaming, and I’m already throwing punches back.

A couple of them connect, and as Shane staggers back, he finally seems to take the hint. He turns and runs back to his car parked outside the gate, speeding off a few seconds later.

“Are you all right?” Emma asks.

“I gotta be honest,” I tell her. “I don’t think your dad likes me.”

She laughs. “That’s usually the sign of a decent character,” she says. “How’s the eye?”

I’m actually not feeling it right now. With all the adrenaline going through me, I can feel an increase of pressure where that fuckhead gave me his cheap shot, but if there’s any pain, I don’t notice it.

“It’s not so bad,” I tell her. “How does it look?”

“You’re going to have a shiner,” she

says. “Dutch is going to be thrilled.”