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)
No, I couldn’t kill her just yet.
I leaned back against the cushions, waiting.
“And what did Cally give you in exchange for not telling me about Aella?” he asked. “And you do know, right, that Aella was my mom’s name?”
Fuck.
Yet another brick sliding into place.
“I do.” Trini smirked. “Why do you think I named her that?”
I saw Cakes’s thighs tighten, as if he was holding himself back.
“And she gave me a diamond ring,” she said. “One that was apparently your mother’s. Netted me quite a fuckin’ bit of money, too.”
Fuck.
I’d heard all about that diamond ring.
It’d been worth millions, according to Cakes.
And Cally had ‘lost’ it about two years into their marriage.
I saw Cakes’ jaw work as he tried and failed to gain his composure.
Before anyone could blink, he’d leaned over the table and dragged her, chair and all, up over the table so that he could get into her face.
“So not only did you steal my daughter away from me, but you also stole my inheritance?” He laughed sardonically. “I don’t care what I have to do to you, Trini Cowan. But I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure that yours is miserable.”
Sixteen
I totally believe in annoyed at first sight.
—Aella to Cakes
AELLA
Okay, so admittedly, I probably should’ve stayed away from Chevy Clayborne.
If only because I now had the same flu that he had.
I left early from work, well and truly dragging.
I just hoped that Chevy was there so we could be miserable together.
When I got into the lot—for once being able to use my parking spot because I wasn’t worried about my car not starting—I saw that there was a plethora of cars parked around and near my spot, but mine was actually open.
I pulled right into it, shut the car off, and practically forced myself out of the car.
By the time that I hit the landing to my apartment, I thought that I might pass out due to the exertion of climbing the stairs.
That pause that I did outside of my apartment door allowed me to hear the words coming from inside my apartment.
“So not only did you steal my daughter away from me, but you also stole my inheritance?” Someone laughed disdainfully. “I don’t care what I have to do to you, Trini Cowan. But I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure that yours is miserable.”
One, why was my mother in my apartment?
Two, why was there a strange man with her?
Because I was now deathly afraid of what I’d find in my apartment, I pulled out my phone and did the craziest thing I’d ever done.
I called Chevy instead of the police.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Hey,” he said, sounding out of breath.
“There’s someone in my apartment,” I breathed, shaking slightly.
There was a moment of silence, and then the door to my place opened and Chevy was standing there, shirtless, hair mussed, and eyes puffy and red.
Any other time, I would’ve checked out his amazing upper body—so many muscles—but not this time.
I was scared and about to pass out because I was losing steam fast.
He frowned when he saw me and reached for me.
The way his hand curved around my body had butterflies taking flight in my belly.
“Your mom showed,” he said.
I touched my skin to his and immediately regretted it.
My skin hurt to the touch, and he was so hot he was blazing.
“You’re running a fever,” I muttered as I scooted toward him pathetically.
“So are you.” He paused. “Did I get you sick?”
I shrugged and came into the room farther, altogether uncaring about who was also in my apartment.
“Your mother showed while I was dying in your bed,” he explained as he closed the door behind me. “Did you take any ibuprofen yet?”
“Popped some at work,” I admitted. “Who let her in?”
“A man,” he replied as he moved so that I could see the room.
My apartment wasn’t super huge, but it wasn’t small, either.
It might be a piece of shit, but it was on the larger side of a piece of shit.
I did have a tiny kitchen table, and it looked tinier when some large man with a beard and a scowl the size of Texas had my mom by the shirt collar across the top of it.
She also had a chair attached to her, which only made the scene all the more funny.
But the scowl disappeared from the man, and I nearly gasped aloud.
From the time that I could comprehend what compliments were, I’d been getting them about my brown eyes.
They were quite unique, according to friends.
My mom always liked to say that my eyes looked like I’d shit in a bottle of whiskey and left it out in the sun to percolate.
Everyone else said that my brown eyes seemed to be alive with fire.
And the man staring at me right now, his hand still securely wrapped around my mother’s collar, had the same eyes.