Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
I’m coming down the never-ending hall—which even has high ceilings and fancy lighting—when I catch Mary’s hushed voice and Van’s not-so-hushed voice echoing through the house. The house is big, so voices carry.
“I’m truly sorry,” Mary says, but I don’t catch the start, just that much.
“Mom, not now, please,” Van groans.
“You didn’t have to stay away. People change.”
“You didn’t have to stay with him.” Van’s voice is harsh. Bitter. Accusing.
Who’s him? Certainly not Van’s dad?
“The company was his everything,” Mary hisses. “It meant the world to him. That’s why he left it to you in his will.”
“The will is a joke. I couldn’t take it even if I tried. I checked. There were clauses.”
He checked? But I thought he said he wasn’t interested in the company?
Mary gasps. “What are you talking about? What clauses? There’d have to be a way around them. He was sorry, Van. He wanted a relationship with you. He felt bad about everything that happened.”
“That’s why he contacted me so many times over the years.”
“It’s why he left you his empire and dream. We’ll get everything fixed. I’ll take a look at the will. My lawyers can figure it out.”
“Mom, just leave it.”
“I won’t leave it. Your father wanted you to have it.”
“He didn’t. He wanted to throw it back in my face.”
There’s a long pause, then comes Mary’s voice, heavy and sad. “I’m just glad you’re back. Nanny is overjoyed, and Kimmy will come around. She’ll see that—”
I’m fuming. The anger I feel within me is a sick sucker punch in the gut. It’s like swallowing all those nasty hornets that chased me off Nanny’s front lawn and also a mouthful of Curly Cookie’s handiwork in the backyard. I’m seething to the point where it feels like that towel warmer got to me instead of the towels. My blood is boiling.
Van waited all of two seconds before he was scheming with his mom in the kitchen. He told me that he had no interest in the company or replacing Kimmy. That’s not why he came back. He said he wanted to make things right with his family and unburn bridges. Yeah. Freaking. Right. That was clearly a crock of shit because they were just plotting world freaking domination in the form of Kimmy’s company in there.
I stroll out of the hall, making as much noise as I can. I’m determined to paste on a cheerful smile because it’s exactly the kind of thing Kimmy would want me to do. She’d want me to stay and act happy and sweet and find out as much as I possibly could, but I just can’t do it. I’m the world’s worst spy. It only makes things worse that when Van and Mary see me, they both whirl around from the table they’re standing in front of in the grandest of kitchens and dining areas. They both look guilty. As guilty as can freaking be. They wouldn’t look that way if they weren’t scheming. They were knee-deep in old family drama, and they couldn’t look worse if they’d had to run their underwear up a flagpole in the front yard, inside out, for everyone to see.
I no longer have to fake feeling sick. I set my hand on my stomach, which is spinning. “I’m sorry. I—I’m not feeling well. I’m going to go if that’s okay? I’ll come over another time. I’m really glad that you two can have dinner together, though. You both deserve it.”
I walk quickly to the front door, as fast as I dare, knowing I’m generally quite clumsy. I don’t want to land on my face. I shove my feet into my flip-flops, burst out of the heavy front door to a chorus of beeping from the security system, and power walk to the car. I’m so close. So freaking close. And I’m shaking all over. I need to call Kimmy. I need to warn her. So, so close. Almost there.
A hand closes around my wrist, big and warm and masculine. Fuck. As soon as I spin around and shake it off, Van’s hand drops away. He steps back respectfully, his golden eyes—freaking lying eyes—freaking lying nice manly lips, and freaking lying face right there. So, so close. He has no right to look confused. But maybe that’s actual guilt.
“Are you okay?”
“Using my line on me now?” Lame. I know, I know. I suck at being ruthlessly angry.
“You just sprinted out of there. You were feeling fine before. You were also in the bathroom for a long time. If you’re sick, let me take you home.”
“I’m good, thanks, Sullivan.”
“Sullivan?” He rakes a hand through his hair. “What did I do to deserve that?”
I’m a shit liar, and I’m also pissed, which is why I can’t help the words that I snap at him. “Oh, plotting with your mom to take your sister down after you promised me you weren’t doing that. I think that deserves the use of your full name, even if you hate it. Guess what? I don’t like you right now. I think I might even hate you. I trusted you, and you lied to me. You’re a turd.”