Dead Beat ✔(Editing)[1]

Chapter 6 : Feast by Beast (new)

"This is my study, Mr. Bradford. My house! My chairs! And I don't take orders from others." I snarled, burning hopes through his handsome face, "Show yourself out before I do the honors for you."

He remained silent and rigid as a cold bark in summers. He slowly pushed the chair back, making me narrow my eyes. He stood up, keeping his hands at the table before bending forward slightly.

"Let's talk business, Miss King. I'm sure after reading this file, you would want to sit down and oblige to my demands." He muttered, throwing a file across the table.

"Don't play games with me, Theodore Bradford. I'm not going to be a pawn in your game." I warned, silently picking up the file.

"I don't like over confident persons much, Caitlyn King." He retorted back, making me swallow hard to curb down the bubbling anger inside me.

I could not fucking understand myself. Was I afraid? Or angry? Or irritated? 

Well maybe all the three options. 

"You likes and dislikes are none of importance to my concern, Mr. Bradford." I tilted my eyes, fixing my gaze at him.

He stared blankly at me, waiting for me to open the folder. I looked down at my hands and at the folder. Mahogany red folder. I caressed the white colored printed panther on the top of it. 

He was indeed The Theodore Bradford and there was no denying the truth.

I blinked twice and hard. I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was wrong here.

I pulled the zip open and tilted the cover. My heart stilled as I looked at the documents inside the folder. I looked up at him with my widened eyes and again looked down, hastily going through all the pages.

'Grant deed

The undersigned grantor declares that:

As a gift and donation, Patrick King, a married man as his sole and separate property as to an undivided interest....'

I turned the pages and looked at him with clenched jaw and solemn, dark eyes.

"What rubbish is this!" I bellowed, slamming back the folder on the table with a thud.

Silence. 

I took a long, deep and shaky breathe before closing my orbs and opening them again to only look sharply into his light grey eyes.

"My father can never sign these papers. He earned and built that house with his incomes. He built whole empire on his own and this house," I pointed at the folder with my forefinger, "It was his first house. Me and my brother were born in that house. Fuck, he can never willingly give that house to anybody."

My voice raised bit by bit but he never spoke anything; just listened to me; stared at me blankly; and sat back on my chair.

I fisted my hands, once slamming my fist on the table.

"Now, sit down. I don't have much time. You have three days and after that, we will marry." He relaxed back his head on my chair, directly looking me in the eyes.

"What do you think of yourself? Huh? Obama? Or the God himself?" I seethed, glaring at him with total distaste. Nothing could measure the amount of hatred I felt towards him.