Gold Digger Tax

The next day I wake up with a hell of a hangover, but I have to force myself to get up and go to work whether I want to or not. My dad hates it when I take days off just because, and I hate to hear him nagging me like I'm still a kid.

This time, when I head to the kitchen, Anya isn't here, but she's left breakfast ready for me. Scrambled eggs with toast and avocado, but no fruit.

"Remember we have the event at seven today. We need to be ready and on our way by six," I text Anya as I eat.

"Okay,” she replies a few seconds later.

"Your stuff is still in my car, I'll put it in your room," I let her know.

"Thanks, Sir,” she replies. Sir? Pff. I just roll my eyes.

I guess she's still mad about yesterday.

What a baby.

I thought she had more fight in her. I was kind of even expecting some retaliation or something. Her trying to piss me off or sneak another punch on me.

If she thinks that her being quiet and well behaved now is going to make me stop messing with her, she’s dead wrong.

E