Monster in His Eyes
Page 63

"Maybe so, but let this be a lesson to choose your words carefully, because people will take you at face value and hold you to what you say and not what you mean."
"But I—"
Before I can get anything else out, he picks up his pen and goes back to his work, cutting me off. "Good day, Miss Reed."
Shoving my chair back, I stand up. I should've known coming here was pointless. I storm out of the room, tears stinging my eyes again, this time stubbornly falling down my cheeks. I wipe them away with the back of my hand as I pull out my phone, dialing Naz's number.
It rings twice before he answers.
"I fucking hate him," I say right away, stepping outside. "He's such a dick."
"I take it appealing to his compassion didn't work."
"No, it didn't, because he's heartless. He treats me like I'm ignorant... like I'm just this stupid little girl who doesn't understand anything."
My voice cracks as I try to hold back tears. The line is stone cold silent for a second before his quiet voice carries through. "You're crying."
"No, I'm not."
"Don't lie to me."
It's stupid to cry. I feel ridiculous. I wipe away more wayward tears, trying to pull myself together. "I'm fine. I just... ugh, he makes me so mad. He's so smug and acts like he knows everything and I just wish someone would knock him down a peg."
He lets out a sigh. "Don't worry about it, Karissa."
"But I don't know what to do about it all."
"It'll work out," he says. "What you need is some time away, some time to clear your head and not think of everything. Come away with me this weekend."
I roll my eyes. He sounds so damn relaxed, nothing bothering him. I wish I had his confidence. "You know I will."
The town car is idling along the curb in front of the dorm, the driver standing beside it, waiting for me. I pause a few feet away, my bag dragging the sidewalk, a new red dress still in plastic and on the hanger, draped over my arm.
I'm a mess, sweaty and tired, wearing a pair of black leggings and an oversize white shirt, the outfit complete with a pair of flip flops.
I couldn't put on my shoes. My toenails are wet, painted red to match my dress. I was in the middle of doing it when Naz called, informing me the car was waiting downstairs. He hadn't given me much notice. I had to rush around at the last second getting all of my stuff.
The driver takes my things and puts them in the trunk. I don't wait for him to open the door for me, opening it myself. Naz is sitting there, phone to his ear, dressed as usual. He casts a look at me as I climb in beside him, talking to whoever's on the line.
"We're leaving Greenwich now," he says. "We should be to Jersey in about half an hour."
My brow furrows. He's taking me to New Jersey?
He hangs up without saying goodbye, slipping the phone away, as he leans toward me and quickly kisses my lips. The driver gets in and pulls away from the curb, merging into traffic.
"So what's in New Jersey?" I ask curiously.
"A lot," he says. "Full-service gas stations, saltwater taffy, the Jersey Devils, Palisades Park... Atlantic City, the Jersey shore... and Snooki, of course."
"Snooki?"
"Oh, and the Sopranos." He raises his eyebrows. "You watch it?"
"Uh, I caught a few episodes."
"Great show," he says. "Purely fictional, of course."
I laugh, shaking my head. "So that's why we're going to Jersey? Because of TV shows and gas stations?"
"Of course not."
"Then why are we going?"
"You'll see."
Not long after we cross the state line, the car heads toward a small airport. As soon as I see the sign for it, I cut my eyes at Naz. "We're not really going to New Jersey, are we?"
"Of course not," he says. "There's nothing in Jersey."
Rolling my eyes, I watch out of the window as we approach a private jet parked off to the side, the car pulling right up to it. A group of people hangs out beside it, chatting as other cars unload luggage, their belongings being loaded onto the aircraft.
Most of the faces on the tarmac are foreign to me, middle aged men and a few women, maybe a dozen in total. But dead center in the crowd, I recognize Raymond Angelo.
He's smiling cheerfully, his arm around a blonde woman not much older than me.
Everyone is dressed impeccably—suits and dresses, not a single hair out of place. They fit in with Naz, in his expensive black suit, but not me. I don't belong here. I'm not like these people. They're lobster and caviar, thousand dollar bottles of wine.
I'm more like something you can order in a drive-through.
I reach over and grab Naz's arm when the car stops. He hesitates, shooting me a peculiar look, as the driver opens the door.
"Give us a moment," Naz says. "Go ahead and load our things."
"Yes, sir."
Once we're alone, Naz shifts around in the seat to face me. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"
"I can't do this."
"Why?" he asks. "Afraid of flying?"
"No," I whisper, although now that he mentions it I feel the anxiety bubbling in my stomach. "I mean, I've never flown before, but that's not it. I just... I don't fit in."
"I know you don't."