Charles didn’t laugh.
His grip on his knife tightened, his knuckles white. “Your hair. Your goddamn hair, Elise—”
“What about it?” she asked, all deliciously sweet venom. She even twirled a strand around her finger like she hadn’t just thrown gasoline on his already raging temper. “Don’t tell me you’re allergic to a little color, Daddy.” I could bet you every f*****g tattoo on my body she had never called him that before, just based on the look on his face.
Oh, little monster was playing her own game now—taking her dad’s way of treating woman and turning it onto him. Reminding him that woman aren’t just a piece of meat.
Though, I wasn’t sure if that’s what he’s getting into his thick head. More than likely, he’s more worried about his own rep than caring if his daughter was being disre
