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no celebrating allowed anymore. The only activity in a day would be Grayson and the other staff members performing their duties like mechanical robots. My brothers Ryan and Caleb moved out a few months after mom died, got a nice apartment together near the university and my sister Alex went to live with Aunt Betty in Australia while she works on her Doctorate, she’s the really smart one in the family.
    That leaves just me and him, a huge estate and at least a dozen staff members to run it. Not to mention, security staff and body guards, many of whom I have never seen or met, low profile and all.
    See, my family is filthy rich, Daddy is swimming in it. My Great, Great Grandfather started it all, when he got into some investment thing, what I’m not too sure. I don’t pay attention and I don’t really care. My brothers will take over one day.
    As for me, I work, or I should say I worked at Layton and Rusk as a Paralegal. I earn my own money and wish to keep it that way. Yeah there’s a trust fund and there’s money pouring out of my ass too, if I want it, but I’d rather make it on my own. I’m not like the others. Miss incurably Independent they call me, I guess they’re right.
    The atmosphere in the house was different tonight; the air was heavy with testosterone. You could practically hear the whip cracking in the air and as I stood at the door, I could hear footsteps everywhere as staff scurried around taking care of his highness’s wishes. It made me laugh, at just how pathetic it really was in his world.
    “Good evening, Miss. Manning.”
    “Hello, Grayson,” I said, handing off my jacket.
    “Your Father is waiting for you in the study,” he said.
    In the study , how stuffy did that sound? Like something you would hear in an old black and white movie being spoken by a little hunched over British butler. Carrying a tray of drinks with a crisp white towel over his arm, scuffling his feet over the highly polished hardwood floors directing the way.
    I opened the door and barged in, not accustomed to knocking at a door in my own house, unless of course it was a bedroom or bath. If I had to do this, I was going to be as big a tough-ass as he was.
    “Hello, Daddy, you wanted to see me? Here I am,” I said, with my arms folded across my chest and my head tipped just enough to say I’m-tired-and-let’s-get-this-over-with.
    “Kitten, have a seat. Want something to drink?” he asked taking the crystal cork from the decanter on the side table and half filling a snifter with brandy. I threw myself onto the cold leather sofa and crossed my arms and legs waiting, my shoe swinging on the tip of my big toe.
    “Nope, nothing for me thanks.” Brandy was one of those firsts that Tess and I had snuck from my father’s liquor cabinet and gotten wasted on in our youth. The sugary burning smell made me heave. Now whiskey, that was another thing all together, I enjoyed a really good whiskey from time to time. But he kept that for business dealings and private guests.
    “So? I take it you’re still adamant about this cruise thing,” he said, like I was a little kid having a hissy fit and threatening to run away.
    Cruise thing
    He kept calling it that and knew that it annoyed me. He was an educated man, not some ignorant vagrant off the street. The man had been on his share of cruises, it’s not like he never got out. Unlike some of us, he had travelled the world and its seven seas. Now it was my turn.
    “Yep, I’m leaving Friday.”
    My father stared at my shoe waving back and forth; scowling until I stopped. He opened his top desk drawer and pulled out his fancy leather-bound checkbook. As he opened it, I imagined the sound of an old door creaking unused for years and a thick layer of dust blowing into the air and I almost laughed out loud.
    He scribbled across a check with his gold Caran d’Ache fountain pen and slowly tore it out, handing it to me. Was he kidding? Was this some kind of a joke? Was he actually