Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
“Bingo,” Ford mutters, pointing at the Tahoe.
I whip into the spot next to it. We both jump out. The vehicle is empty and the keys are sitting on the seat.
What the fuck?
“I’ll find out which room she checked into,” Ford barks out before stalking into the office.
I pace around the Tahoe, making sure I didn’t miss anything. My phone rings and I answer on the second ring, putting it on speaker.
“Talk to me,” I growl.
“She called her dad,” Zac hisses. “Not from her phone but from a pay phone at a hotel.”
“She’s not here,” Ford bellows, storming over to me. “The clerk said she took an Uber from here.”
“An Uber?” I demand. “To where?”
“Obviously back home,” Zac says coolly.
“You know how expensive it would be to have an Uber drive her hours back home?” I snarl. The icy wind whips around me and snow flutters against my face.
“Real fucking expensive,” Ford utters as he opens the Tahoe driver’s side door and peeks inside. “But she’s Clove fucking Sterling. She’s loaded.”
“We need to get her,” I bite out. “Now.”
“Go after her, man,” Zac orders to me.
“The Tahoe needs gas, but then I can come get you guys,” Ford tells Zac. “We won’t be far behind Seb.”
“We’re already on our way,” Zac informs me. “Rachel’s new guy Rick showed up and we borrowed his car.”
Borrowed. I bet her new dickhead boy toy loved Zac and Leo stealing his car. They’ll get over it, though. Our primary focus is on getting Clove back.
“Seb,” Zac barks out just as I slip back inside the Malibu. “We’re going to get our girl back.”
We fucking better.
When the Uber rolls to a stop in front of the iron gates leading up to my house, the warm, familiar feeling I was hoping to wash over me in welcome is absent. My thoughts remain lost to my four guys. They’ll be going out of their minds with me just up and leaving. In the heat of the moment, I was angry—too hurt by Rachel’s implications. And then to find them embraced in such an intimate way? I let my rage guide me and now I’m here. I don’t know if it was the right thing to do. If my guys had allowed me my cell phone, they could have called me, and I could have explained that I needed some time to let all the new information sink in. To allow my insecurities time to adjust to my new life. To accept that maybe I’m not special to them…that I’ll also have to learn to share them.
No.
I couldn’t ever do that.
It may make me a hypocrite, but it was just never an option. I can’t share them. It would be too painful. They’re mine…or at least I thought they were.
I need to talk to my dad. To clear up any suspicions the guys have toward him.
“Identification?” some broad guard I don’t recognize barks to the driver.
Opening the car door, I step out and approach him. “I’m Miss Sterling, your boss’s daughter. I live here. Please open the gate.”
The man’s brows tug down, making a scar slashed through his right eyebrow tug up the eyelid, making him appear menacing. “Miss Sterling, we weren’t told to expect you.”
“Doesn’t change the fact I’m standing here. So, again, please open the gate and inform my father that I’m home,” I say testily. The long day has exhausted me, physically and emotionally, and I want to curl up and cry.
“Right away, ma’am.” He nods and goes to the little visitor box to press the button that opens the gate. “I can take you up,” he informs me, handing the Uber driver a bunch of bills and jerking his head to dismiss him.
Gesturing with his hand to a golf cart, he eyes me expectantly. I shake my head to decline. “I’ll walk. I could use the air.”
The truth is, I need the short time to hash over what it is I’m going to say to my father. Up until now, all I could think about was Rachel’s words rattling around my brain, making a hole open up in my chest. Her seemingly insignificant rant had more impact than I would’ve liked, making me feel foolish.
I regret offering to walk almost straight away. It’s too cold. I pull my coat tighter around me to try and bring heat to my skin as the house comes into view. I’m nervous when I shouldn’t be. This is the house I was raised within. It’s always been my haven, yet it feels oddly unfamiliar now.
My feet protest the walk up the winding driveway, blisters rise on the soles of my feet, and I sigh when I reach the steps leading to the house. Marjorie comes rushing out to greet me. She hurries toward me, throwing her arms around me, catching me off guard and forcing me backward on my feet. She’s never this affectionate. Perhaps she missed me?