The next morning, I step out of the house, ready to crush another day at the office.
“I don’t like him.”
“s**t!” I startle and clutch at my chest. Dad is standing on the front porch, leaning against the wooden railings and smoking a cigarette. “What the hell? You nearly gave me a heart attack, Dad.”
His response is to take a long pull of his cigarette. I become nervous; he only smokes when he’s stressed out about something.
“That boss of yours? I’ve got a bad feeling about him. I don’t want to see him in this house ever again,” he declares.
I shake my head, causing tendrils of my hair to fall into my face. “Why? And what about his offer to help Mom launch her book at the Royal Museum?”
He turns around to look at me. His eyes are tired yet fierce and his lips are pinched tightly.
“Y
