52 Reasons to Hate My Father Read Online Free PDF

partying all night at a club that’s saying a lot.
    Jia and T helped me pick up the most perfect outfit for today. One that they assured me screams independently wealthy! I’m wearing a pair of high-waisted navy trousers and a cream-colored silk sleeveless blouse with a ruffled trim underneath a tweed cropped Chanel suit jacket. I clasp a pearl choker around my neck, swoop my hair back with a silk headband, and top the whole thing off with a men’s vintage gold Rolex watch that I swiped from my father’s closet.
    I figure since he has like twenty of them, it’s not as though he’ll even notice it’s gone.
    Jia and T flew to Vegas this morning to finish up the preparations for the birthday party they’re throwing me at the Bellagio tonight so I promised to send pictures once the whole “look” was assembled. I give my cell phone to Horatio, our middle-aged Argentinean butler who’s worked for us since before I was born, and make him take zillions of photos.
    “What do you think, Horatio?” I ask, posing in front of the grand marble staircase that spirals through the entry hall. “Do I look like a million bucks?”
    “Sí, señorita,” he responds faithfully in his silky Spanish, bowing his head slightly the way he always does when he answers a question.
    “What about twenty-five million bucks?”
    To this he only smiles. But I take it as another yes.
    He hands my cell phone back to me and walks over to a table at the far end of the foyer. “You will be needing a car?” he asks, picking up the house phone and preparing to dial Kingston, our chauffeur.
    “No!” I practically scream, diving for the table and pushing down on his hand until the receiver is back in the cradle. “Duh, Horatio. Today I’m an independent woman. I don’t need people my father pays to drive me around.” I glance in the antique gilded mirror hanging on the wall and flash a satisfied smile at my reflection. “I’ll drive myself.”
    Horatio hesitates for a moment before saying, “I am to remind you, Miss Larrabee, that your car is currently in an impound lot in Torrance.”
    I watch my mouth fall into a sullen frown. “Oh, yeah.”
    But then I quickly pep myself back up and refresh my smile. “That’s okay,” I tell him. “I’ll just take the Bentley.”
    “Your father’s Bentley?” Horatio asks, raising his eyebrows.
    I shoot him an irritated look. “What? It’s not like he ever drives it.”
    *   *   *
    Thirty minutes later I pull into the parking garage of Bruce’s building, place Holly in my oversize Birkin bag, toss the keys to the awaiting valet, and prance into the elevator.
    People are looking at me—quite strangely actually—but it doesn’t faze me. Being the daughter of Richard Larrabee, you get accustomed to the stares pretty quickly. It used to be only the older, business-y people who would recognize me. You know, subscribers to those serious magazines that always have downer stories on the covers about oil spills and the decline of health care. But ever since I started making the cover of more important magazines like Us Weekly (the first in the Larrabee family to do so, might I add!) I get recognized by everyone .
    “Lexi!” Bruce greets me cheerfully the moment I walk through the door of his office. “Happy birthday, kiddo!”
    Actually, on second thought, it’s a tad too cheerful. And terribly out of character for Bummer Bruce. What’s he so excited about? That he’s finally getting rid of me? That after today, I’m officially an adult and therefore no longer his responsibility?
    Well, to be fair, the feeling is mutual. So I decide to play along. “Hi, Brucey,” I chorus.
    He beams and reaches out to scratch Holly’s head. “And hello to you,” he coos in an obnoxious baby voice before returning his attention to me. “You look great, Lex. New outfit?”
    Okay, now I’m getting a little weirded out. I mean, I understand his excitement about getting me off his daily watch list, but