Silver Linings

O N E

Genevieve

I SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE PARTY THE MOMENT MY FATHER INTRODUCED ME TO THIS ASSHOLE.

I won't lie to myself and say I didn't see this coming because I saw this move from one hundred miles away. Father plays it more often than not and has for quite some time but he can at least try to find a potential suitor that doesn't have an ego the size of Mount Everest.

My parents own three yachts, he says, and when I'm not partying at the club, I like to spend nights eating at the most expensive restaurants in Elgantis.

I mean, seriously.

Does this guy not get sick of his own arrogance? Living the way he does seems exhausting.

I stopped listening to him once he brought up the number of times a previous girlfriend has asked how much his Ferrari cost him which was not even ten minutes into our conversation. I didn't want to attend this party with my family in the first place so why would I give a rat's ass about his damn car?

The first two obvious rules when going on a date with someone are to not bring up past relationships and to be kind and respectful to said date—he has managed to break both rules in record time.

That I didn't see coming.

"Hey!" My attention snaps from the party guests to my date, who has been snapping his fingers in front of my face to change my focus on him. "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?" He scoffs while pouring himself another glass of whiskey.

I raise an eyebrow as I watch the copper-coloured liquid fill his glass. "No. Not even a little."

"Then why the hell am I wasting my time?" He pushes with glaring eyes, downing his glass. "I could be talking to someone who actually has a personality and gave a shit."

This guy can't be serious right now.

I carefully set my champagne glass in front of me and rest my elbows on the table, leaning in slowly. "I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Evan, but not everyone cares about the money you hound your parents for," I respond with a smile; it widens when his cheeks go from pale to dark red. "I don't give a shit about your Ferrari and how many women you've fucked in it and I sure as hell don't act like money is a personality. If you want to end the date here then be my guest because I was ready to tap out the moment you started talking."

I lean back in my seat and grab my glass again, taking a sip as I watch Evan's face morph from embarrassment to rage in a matter of seconds. I don't think the truth is sitting well with him.

"My friends told me you're a bitch," Evan sneers. "I should have listened."

"Yes, you should have," I agree nonchalantly and watch him aggressively take his blazer off the back of his seat. "On your way out, be sure to thank my father for setting you up with such a sweet young lady, hm? I'd appreciate it."

He flips me off before storming out of sight and in the direction of my father's table.

I chuckle into the glass and finish it off with a satisfied sigh. Another day, another ego bruised.

"Must you make every guy you go out with turn into a tomato?"

I take a peek over my shoulder and smile when I see my two older brothers standing behind me. They plant a kiss on either side of my head before seating themselves across from me.

"Can you blame me this time?" I chuckle as I pour each of us a glass of champagne. "This is Evan Sanders we're talking about—the guy's never been told no in his life and has the word asshole tattooed on his damn forehead."