Loves Perfect Score - The love between a Figure skater and a Hockey player.

ONE

Christopher

    Sometimes, I felt like an Ipad kid with the way I'd get upset when someone would interrupt me while I was watching youtube on my phone and trying to devour my long awaited lunch. It made me ten times madder if the person that happened to interrupt my sacred eating and youtube time was someone I had so much...disdain for me, also. Shelby, the one who had the balls to ever so rudely interrupt me stood next to me, pen and clipboard in hand with a nasty scowl on her face, staring at me.

I didn't see her often, the perks of being one of my dad's many current or ex mistresses was living somewhere luxurious if he seemed to like you. She lived wherever he was at the moment, which happened to be in the main house this week. I was glad with the lack of  time i spent with her, even when she was with my dad. Shelby was one of the many things that made my blood boil. From her wigs that she tries to sell as her own hair to her nasty, spoiled attitude when it came to me, I absolutely hated her. However, I knew exactly what she wanted when she grabbed my shoulder.
She flashed me the knowing look that someone's assistant would flash you if you were waiting for the results of a job interview and she knew you were not getting the job. And then what's even worse is you know for a fact you aren't getting the fucking job and it feels like your life is going to end because you have been searching nonstop. My life might not have been ending because of a missed Job opportunity but my life was definitely ending for other reasons.

Before she could even open her mouth to say something, I stood up and started my journey up the stairs and down the hallway to my father's wing; leaving my margarita pizza forgotten on the table. It was obvious that I had been 'summoned' to my father's wing'. I knew what he wanted when he came in the house last week and gave me that look. The look telling me to prepare for the worst.

The sound of her heels clacking against the floor and my slides making noise from the loud way I was stomping was the only thing that was heard until we arrived at his wing.  My father is an extremely closed-off man, so apparently he needed an entire quarter to himself. I'd been guessing that he needed rooms for his bimonthly girlfriends to stay while they spent his money because everyone else stayed in the west wing with Cassandra and me. I liked the West Wing better anyway, It was much less grand than the way Dad kept his part. It made me not feel like such of a fucking spoiled brat.

It felt like I was balancing on eggshells as I slowly slid my hand down the golden door that kept the outside from his office. My brain kept me from actually pushing the door and opening it because I knew the rule that had been instilled in me since I was eight. "Wait until I tell you to come in before you come in" I could hear him say in my mind as I got ready to knock. Was I really ready though? Probably not. This was most likely not a healthy way to feel when you get around your father.

Conversations with my dad usually consisted of 4 things: Boring, unneeded banter; talks about the futures of his two children, How fat Cassandra was getting, and how much attention I was paying to my sports and school. Since we rarely got called to his office for three out of the four things, It was probably about the status of my future, the same future that had been planned for me since I came out of the womb. I always dozed off on these talks since I wasn't all that fond of keeping a multi-billion dollar brand afloat. It seemed like quite a lot of work. 

Tired of my waiting, shelby rudely pushed past me and knocked on the tall wooden door, earning a low 'enter' from my dad. I take a deep breath and open the door to him sitting at his desk, working on his computer.   Inside his office was just as regal as the rest of his house. The office only differed in the way that he sat in gold, his favorite color. The walls were a nice black with gold accents at the top and bottom, simulating vines crawling to the other sides to touch but alas, never racing. The carpet under his desk was black but his entire desk was wood with more golden accents that he were real, as if he wanted to rub the wealth he had in everyone's faces and scream to them that we were rich. The man himself was even wearing a Red suit with a simple gold necklace and other jewelry coating his arms and fingers. I couldn't decide whether it was a masterpiece or a fucking disaster. Probably a masterpiece though, his fashion did sell because of how good he was at it. I was just a hater. However, I did decide that if he ever went bankrupt, his table would be the first thing to go.