They want to make this a game? Fine.
I’ll just have to stay two steps ahead.
Chapter Nine
MAGGIE
Wakingup late feels fuckingamazing.
It’s been ages since I’ve had time to laze around in bed on a weekday morning—well, it’s closer to afternoon at this point, but who cares? My manager, probably, considering the slew of texts I have from her asking where I am, but not me. It’s already late enough that going in to work seems stupid, so I might as well just take the day to relax.
It’s not like the front desk is that hard to keep up with. We getmaybeten calls a day. I’m sure Brooke can handle it. I’ll bring her coffee or something tomorrow.
I go through my morning routine slowly, relishing the feeling of a good night’s sleep and not having to rush through anything. It feels good to pad down the stairs, still in my pajamas and slippers, no one else around to hound me about something or another. Mom is out in the clinic, Bo and Dad out on the ranch.
It’s a good day.
My thoughts stray to Bennett as I brew another pot of coffee. I scowl while glancing out the kitchen window toward thesprawling fields. It’s been almost a week since that night in the barn, and he’s been careful to avoid me since then.
I still can’t believe he just walked away from me like that. Asshole.
Doesn’t matter though, it’s given me plenty of time to stew on what to do next. I’m going to chip away at his carefully constructed barriers piece by piece until he’sbeggingfor me. I’d like to see him try to walk away and leave me wanting again.
“Maggie?” Dad asks, his tone colored with surprise. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
I jump at the sound of his voice, so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn’t hear him come in. My hair slips free of its lazy bun when I whirl to face him, and I busy myself with tying it back up instead of meeting his eyes.
“I took the day off,” I say carelessly, belying the way my heart pounds in my chest.
I hate how much I worry about getting in trouble, even when I egg my dad on. My body fills so quickly with anxiety that the only thing I can think to do is lash out most times.
“Why?” he asks, brows furrowing. “Are you sick?”
I don’t answer him, turning back to the coffee pot as it beeps to signal it’s done brewing. He waits impatiently for an answer behind me, his stare damn near boring through the back of my skull as I pull down a coffee mug.
“Just needed some extra sleep.” I shrug before spooning sugar into my mug, hoping my movements don’t show how tense I feel. “Mental health day, or whatever.”
Dad snorts disbelievingly behind me, his scorn obvious in the sound. The muscles in my shoulders tense up, but I keep my face carefully blank as I turn back to face him.
“What, am I not allowed to take care of myself?” I ask with a scornfully raised brow.
He laughs, but the sound is cold and brittle. “You call this taking care of yourself? The way I see it, you’re still being taken care of. I vouched for you to get this job, handed you everything, made iteasyfor you, and youstillrefuse to apply yourself!”
My lips twist up in a sneer, and I set my coffee mug down with a sharp snap out the counter. How dare he? He has no idea how much effort I’ve put in just to go along with his stupid fucking game. I’m at the clinic every day at bumfuck in the morning just to appease him, and I stay a full eight hours like I’m supposed to hanging around sick, gross people. The least he can do is acknowledge how hard I’ve been working. I earned a day off.
“Why is it such a big deal to take a mental health day?” I bite back. “People do it all the time.”
Sure, Bo works on the ranch come hell or high water, but Oakley took an entire semester off of school when Jamie got hurt and no one said a word about that! Why is it only me that gets shit on when everyone does the same thing?
“A mental health day?” Dad asks with an arched brow as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Funny, Brooke didn’t say anything about that when she called me. In fact, she said you just didn’t show, didn’t even bother to text her. Was worried you were sick.”
Fuck. I should have known someone would call him.
It’s probably a bad idea to antagonize him further, but anger simmers in my chest. I raise a hand to my mouth and let out the fakest cough I can muster, not dropping eye contact.
“Super sick,” I say blandly. “Got a fever too.”
“You’re being lazy, Magnolia, just like you have been your entire life!” Dad shouts, his temper flaring. “I stuck my neck out for you, and you don’t even care that your actions are reflecting poorly on me!”
