Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
I didn’t know if you could consider alpha male badasses as knockouts, but if you could, it would be him.
He was tall, broad, and had these muscles that just begged to be squeezed.
He wasn’t exactly super nice, though, so I’d not been able to get to know him as well as the others on the surgical unit.
I’d been working as a tech in surgery for well over a year now, and I got along with most people pretty well.
But I’d never really gotten to know Dr. Clayborne.
He was an enigma, and every single part of my being was enraptured every time he walked in a thirty-foot vicinity of me.
“Thanks,” I said as I slipped it on.
He watched, likely noting how worn out my shoes were, too, but didn’t comment.
“Something wrong with your car?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Something’s always wrong with my car.”
His head tilted, and I could tell that he wanted to know more.
But, since I had places to be, and the man intimidated the hell out of me, I smiled, waved, and took off back toward my car.
My ass jiggled as I went, and I wondered if he noticed.
Likely he did.
It was hard not to notice the way my ass was.
I had a pear body shape.
I had a small upper body, that looked like I spent all my days in the gym. Two very toned arms and a nice, trim waist. But then you got to my hips, which were well and truly birthing hips. I had a fat ass, thick thighs, and dainty feet.
I was what I considered weird looking.
My boyfriends had always liked my ass, though.
Maybe it was good.
I didn’t know.
What I did know was that my thighs, hips and waist made it nearly impossible to find a pair of freakin’ pants that fit well.
I tried not to think about Dr. Clayborne as I headed home, but that proved to be an impossibility.
When I parked my car, I passed my parking space that the complex allotted me and parked on the street at the nearest hill. Then I dragged my tired body the two blocks to my apartment complex and headed up the four flights of stairs.
The first thing I noticed when I got there was that my door was unlocked.
I groaned and hoped that didn’t mean that I would find my sister inside.
I loved my sister dearly, but I was tired, and the only thing I wanted to do was go pay my rent, then go to bed.
However, when I got there, the door was already partially open.
I deflated.
My mom had been here.
And the only time my mom came to my place was to steal my money when she ran out.
Fuckkkk.
“No, no, no,” I repeated as I rushed into my bedroom.
I closed my eyes when I saw my footlocker that I kept underneath my bed open.
Luckily, I didn’t keep very much cash in there anymore because my mom had done this so many times that I’d learned.
I went to the bathroom toilet, then lifted the lid.
“Fuck,” I grumbled when I saw my stash in there missing.
Here’s where most people say “well, Aella, why don’t you have your money in the bank instead of stashed all over your apartment?”
Well, that was because my mom was a complete asshole.
When I was growing up, my mother liked to fuck over both my sister, Silver, and me.
When we were young, she’d started taking out loans in our names, using our Social Security numbers.
When I was two, she’d taken out a mortgage in my name.
When Silver was thirteen, my mom had bought a car in Silver’s name.
From then on, we’d had ruined credit and the inability to use a bank because my mother had committed so much fraud in our names.
To this day, I was still unable to get a bank account, even though I tried once a year.
Which led to me learning how to hide my money so that my mother couldn’t steal anymore of it.
I’d also let my landlord know that, in no uncertain terms, my mother was never, ever allowed at my place. If she was allowed into my place, I would press charges.
Why did I have to make that threat?
Because all of my landlords always fell for my mother’s sweet talking, southern charm.
And I got cleaned out and unable to pay my rent.
As it was, I was month-to-month because no one would allow me to have a lease because of my credit.
Not to mention, the only places I was allowed to live were places that didn’t do credit checks or were shady as hell.
After finding the toilet stash gone, which added up to about five hundred bucks, I went in search of my rent money, already knowing what I would find.
Gone.
All of it.
I fisted my hands and counted to ten.
Then I left and marched down to the office.