Page 7 of Silks

“Did you get tired of those city folk?” he asked. “Didn’t like those pencil-dicked city boys? Ready to come back home where there’s red-blooded men to marry?”

“They have big dicks in Chicago, too,” I said, but my dad was barely listening. He only patted my hand absently and reminded me that I had a job at Barrington Industries whenever I wanted.

“I don’t want to work for your soulless corporation!” I called after him, but he was already gone, working his way through the crowds as everyone turned respectfully.

Money was the only thing the filthy rich Louisville elite understood, and my father, as usual, had the most of it.

God, I had serious daddy issues.

Teddy said nothing, but I hoped I had pissed him off.

“Ophelia, honey!” Mom hissed at me. She was a stunningly beautiful woman in her late 40s with platinum blonde hair and a trim, perfect figure. I had always been approximately twice as wide as her, which she had tried to fix for years with every fad diet in the books. But my big tits, soft belly, and round ass still stubbornly stayed in place despite everything she tried.

“What are you wearing? What year is that from? It looks like an old, wrinkled bridesmaid dress.”

“I didn’t have a dress at hand,” I said at the same time as Teddy put in, “it looks fine, Mom.”

“Shut up, Teddy,” I said irritably. “Who cares what I’m wearing?”

I wasn’t going to fall into all my old patterns just because I was home. I wasn’t going to let Teddy try to fight all my battles for me.

“Your grandmother is here,” Mom said, “and you know she’s a judgy bitch. She told me I was overdoing it at the plastic surgeons.” Mom suddenly grabbed my chin. “Honey, is that a wrinkle in your forehead? It’s never too early to start Botox.”

“Stop,” Teddy rumbled behind me, and Mom threw a disgruntled look at my twin. “All I did was suggest Botox. It wasn’t meant as an insult.”

“Stop,” Teddy said again, and Mom did.

I looked around, trying to figure out where to start with my snooping. My eyes fell on Chet Farnaby.

Chet was one of the amorphously similar dark-haired corporate bro types that swam in the competitive waters at Barrington businesses, fighting for that 3rd most popular position in the company after my father and brother. I kind of remembered him having a crush on me. Well, it was either me or the fact that I was the daughter of Theodore Barrington IV.

“Is Chet single?” I asked.

He was kind of hot in a tightly-wound way. I could definitely see myself as some kind of secret agent, sleeping with Chet for a night to get information out of him, and then leaving before he insisted on a juice cleanse.

“No,” Teddy said from behind me.

“I was talking to Mom,” I snapped. “Back up, Teddy. You don’t need to follow me around all night.”

“You aren’t going to date anyone named Chet,” my brother said coolly.

“Your name is Teddy,” I retorted. “You couldn’t sound any more like the kind of douchebag who thinks talking about his boat is foreplay.”

“Does that work as foreplay in Chicago?” Teddy asked.

I huffed and ignored him.

“Stop it, you two,” Mom said, rubbing her head. “Aren’t you too old for fighting like this? You’re 27 years old, for God’s sake. Didn’t you used to be the best of friends?”

“No,” I said, and I used the cover of a passing waiter to duck away from both of them.

I hurried over to Chet.

“Ophelia Barrington,” he said, and I could see his eyes flick up and down my body.

OK, this dress might be ridiculous but I still had a halfway decent body at least, no matter what Mom said.

“Chet,” I said. “How’s it going?”