Roommates with Benefits [18+ only]

19. For her

LUKAS

This lunch couldn't have come at a worse moment. I almost cancelled on my dad to go with them to the cafeteria, but that would have reached levels of insanity I'm not yet ready to acknowledge. So, she's met a guy, big deal. He's not even remotely close to being a rival I should beware of.

I've been in England for a few months, I could spot his fake English accent from miles away, which means he's lying to her. Still, they're allegedly just friends, no reason for me to interfere. And yet the idea that I got stuck in this fancy restaurant with my dad while Tara was having fun with that Sean guy was unnerving.

"Hello."

I instinctively stood up the moment I saw my dad in front of me, then cursed myself for being so stupid. Just because I'm trying to be nicer to him, doesn't mean I gotta obey to his orders like a puppy. "Hello."

We both sat down, and silence reigned for a few seconds. "How are you?" He asked, somewhat coldly, but before I could even reply, he asked another question: "Why does my accountant say you spent 10 thousand dollars in two days?"

Right, straight to the point, as usual. "How does your accountant know my expenses?"

"Maybe because he is our family accountant, he keeps tabs on all our expenses." My father spat, raising a finger to call the waiter.

"Or maybe you are keeping tabs on me." I scoffed, inevitably hostile. There's just something about him that tickles my worst side, I get aggressive even when he barely provokes me. It's the one thing I need to change for the sake of my mom's memory.

"You're my son," he spat out the last word, as if he were revolted as the sole idea of a blood relation between us, "do you really expect me not to check on you?"

"For that, you can just call me every once in a while, not poke your nose into my business." Ugh, damnit. I need to calm down.

"I can call you and keep track of your expenses." He spat. "Especially when you waste money like candy."

I rolled my eyes. "It wasn't your money." I pointed out. "I took it from my trust fund."

"You seem to forget who is the trustee of that fund." My father bit back harshly. "After ..." he trailed off for a moment, then because the waiter arrived, he didn't finish the sentence.

But it was clear, he was going to say: after your mother's death. He can't even speak her name, let alone talk about her. I might think it's his dirty conscience, but he doesn't have one.

He quickly ordered for both of us – because why would I know my own mind even about food, right? –, then he returned on the same subject: "Just because you have access to the fund, doesn't mean you should squander everything in the blink of an eye."

"For your information, the money I took was for an apartment."

"I'm aware." He nodded, then took a sip of his water. "An apartment in which you haven't slept a single night after having paid 2 months worth of rent in advance."

I frowned. "Have you had me followed?" I wondered, confused as to how would he know such details.

"If instead of doing your nonsensical trip around the world, you had gone to business school right after graduation, like I wanted you to, you would know that money always leaves a trail that can easily be followed."

Not this again. "You know business school isn't for me." I reminded him.

"And the medical profession is?"