Bad Girl Reputation by Elle Kennedy

“Let’s talk,” he says, nodding at a chair in front of the desk. “Where’ve you been?”

“I’m sorry I’m late. I was out and overslept. Won’t happen again.”

“Uh-huh.” He sips his coffee, chair tipped back against the wall. “You know, I was sitting here waiting for you, and I got to thinking. And it occurred to me I never really disciplined you as a kid.”

Talk about an understatement. Although Dad was never the overly strict type, I probably got it the easiest, being the only daughter in a house full of boys. It’s one of the reasons we got along so well.

“And maybe I need to take some responsibility for how that turned out,” he says slowly. Pensive. “All the partying and getting in trouble … I didn’t do you any favors letting you carry on like that.”

“I’m pretty sure I would have done what I wanted either way,” I admit.

He answers with a knowing grin.

“At least this way I didn’t grow up hating you.”

“Yeah, well, teenagers are supposed to hate their parents at least a little, at some point or another.”

Maybe that’s true, but I prefer it this way, knowing the alternative. “I am trying to do better,” I tell him, hoping he can see the sincerity on my face. “This was a slip, but I promise I won’t make it a habit. I want you to know you can count on me. I understand how important it is to chip in around here right now.”

He sits forward. “We can both do better, kiddo. Truth is, you’ve been great around here. Got the place running smooth. Customers love you. Everybody’s always going on about what a charming young woman you turned out to be.”

I grin. “I clean up nice when I want to.”

“So.” Dad gets up and comes around the desk. “I’ll get out of your hair. Consider this your first official reprimand, kiddo.” He pats me on the head and strolls out.

Oddly, I think I kind of enjoyed that, talking with my father like adults. I appreciate that he respected me enough to tell me I messed up without beating me over the head about one mistake. And I’m thrilled that he thinks I’m doing well here. When I agreed to run the office, I was terrified I’d screw it up, drive the whole thing into the ground, and leave Dad bankrupt and broken. Instead, it turns out I might actually be good at this stuff.

For once, I’m not a total disaster.





CHAPTER 15

EVAN

I used to enjoy being alone on a jobsite, hanging drywall or pouring in a driveway. Give me a list and eight hours, and I’d have that shit knocked out no problem. I always work faster by myself, especially when I don’t have to listen to some asshole’s radio or him telling me about his sick pet fish or whatever. Today is different. I’ve been at the West house all morning installing new kitchen cabinets, but it’s taking me twice as long as it should. These cabinet doors don’t want to level out. I keep dropping stuff. At one point, I damn near ran a drill over my finger.

It’s been days of unanswered texts since Gen ran off from our spot. My calls are going straight to voicemail. It’s maddening. She just drops all those truth bombs and accusations in my lap and then ghosts me? She barely gave me a chance to respond.

Then again, what the hell could I even say? Apparently, I hadn’t been that off-base when I blamed myself for running her out of town. Randall set the ball in motion, but I kicked the damn thing in the net. Goal! Gen’s gone!

I was a wake-up call for her. Christ. My hungover, passed-out self drove the girl I love more than anything else in this world right out of my life.

Damned if that doesn’t rip apart my insides.

I fight the pain tightening my throat, my hand once again squeezing the drill a little too hard. Fuck. I’m going to get myself killed on this job if I don’t start focusing.

But no, I refuse to take all the blame. Since when did I become the root of all her problems? Seems like a convenient excuse to avoid dealing with her own baggage. I might have been a delinquent for most of my life, but at least I’m not trying to lay that blame on everyone else.

“Hey, man.” Gen’s youngest brother Craig strolls into the kitchen wearing a T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. He gives me a nod as he grabs a soda from the fridge. “Thirsty?”

I’d love a beer, but I accept the soda anyway. “Thanks.” I might as well take a break, seeing as how I’ve entirely lost track of what I was doing anyway.

“How’s it going in here?” he asks after scanning the dust-covered disaster that is the half-demolished kitchen. He takes a seat at the kitchen table that now sits under a drop cloth and my toolboxes.

“Slow,” I reply honestly. “But I’ll get it done.” Or Levi will have my ass. “You ready to get the hell out of here?”

Craig shrugs, sipping his soda. “I guess. It’s weird thinking this won’t be our house the next time I come home from college.”

He falls quiet, examining the writing on the side of his can. He was always a quiet kid. Four years younger than Gen and a total mama’s boy, which, despite making her resentful, also made Gen especially protective of him.

I lean against the counter. “What are you up to this summer? Any big plans?”

He evades the question, staring down at the table for a beat. Then his attention wanders the room, his shoulders hunched like a kid in the back of the classroom who doesn’t want to get called on. “You’ll think it’s dumb,” he finally answers.