Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“Get out.”
“What?”
“Get. Out,” I snarled, sudden anger uncurling and exploding through me. Guess I could still feel something after all. “And take your fucking rings with you. If I have to look at your smug, disgusting face for another second I’m going to kick your ass.”
“Tinker, you need to settle down,” he said firmly, frowning like a stern father. But I already had a dad, and he was better than this man would ever be. Brandon reached for the call button. “Let’s talk to the nurse. You obviously need a sedative or—oww! What the fuck, Tinker?”
It took two hands to raise his massive, overpriced bundle of roses high enough to hit him again, this time across his picture-perfect, spray-tanned face.
“Get out!” I shrieked. Brandon ducked, backing away. I managed to get in one more whack before he got out of range.
“Tinker, you have to settle down!” he shouted. I heard running footsteps in the hall. “Tinker, please—you aren’t thinking straight.”
“I’m thinking straighter than I have in years!” I shouted back, throwing the bundle of flowers after him. “Get the fuck out of my room and get the fuck out of my life! And take your fucking piece of shit diamonds with you, too, asshole!”
Digging through the covers, I found the rings, pitching them toward my future ex as hard as I could.
“Owww!” he shouted, clutching at his face. A few drops of blood hit the floor. “Jesus Christ, Tinker. What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s going on?” the nurse asked, pushing the door open. She stared at us, wide-eyed. “Security!”
Things moved fast after that.
As the guards came, I struggled out of the bed, screaming at Brandon like a banshee the entire time. He seemed stunned, completely unable to comprehend what’d just happened, which I thought was fucking hysterical. Brandon’s ego had always operated on the too-big-to-fail theory.
Margarita rushed in, catching my arm and pulling me back toward the bed.
“Calm down or they’ll shoot you full of happy drugs,” she whispered in my ear. My chest heaved as I glared at Brandon, showing him every bit of my utter hate and anguish.
“I don’t want to calm down,” I hissed, wondering if I could launch myself forward and scratch his eyes out before they caught me.
“Yes, you do,” she said. “Because otherwise he’ll think he’s the victim here. Don’t give him that. Knowing your luck, he’ll press charges.”
A snort of laughter burst out of me, because wouldn’t that be just like Brandon? Not that he would . . . Not really. That would be far too embarrassing. Couldn’t risk scuffing up that precious image of his, now, could we?
I looked up to find the guards escorting him out of the room. The nurse was pushing me toward the bed and I did what she said, because everything else aside, I really didn’t want to get sedated or whatever. She helped me sit down, her face firm but compassionate.
“I know this has been a terrible day—probably the worst of your life,” she said. “But you can’t physically attack people or we’ll have to restrain you. Would you like me to call a counselor?”
“I’m sorry,” I told her, which was a damned lie. “And no, I don’t want a counselor. Not right now, at least.”
“That was her husband,” Margarita said. “He couldn’t be bothered to leave work earlier when she was losing the baby.”
The nurse’s eyes widened, and she glanced back toward Brandon.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Margarita confirmed, her face fierce. The nurse shook her head and looked at me again.
“Well, whatever he did, we can’t have people fighting in the rooms,” she said. “Is this going to be a problem?”
I shook my head. “No, no more problems.”
The nurse nodded, then gave me another sharp look.
“So you’re done with him? For real?”
I didn’t have to think twice before answering.
“Yeah, I’m definitely done with him.”
“Good for you, sweetie. You deserve better.”
Damn straight I do. A lot better.
CHAPTER ONE
EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER
HALLIES FALLS, WASHINGTON STATE
GAGE
Handyman needed for family-owned building—free rent in exchange for work. Call Tinker Garrett or inquire inside Tinker’s Teahouse, Antiques & Fine Chocolates for more information.
I ripped off one of the little paper tabs with a phone number on it, glancing in the shop window. No signs of life, but the sign said “Open.”
Pulling a worn bandanna out of my back pocket, I wiped my forehead, cursing the fucking heat. Hottest summer on record, and Hallies Falls was even worse than back home in Coeur d’Alene. Couldn’t even sleep at night because the piece of shit AC couldn’t keep up in my craptastic hotel room. Glancing at the sign again, I figured I might as well go for the job. It’d get me out of the damned hotel and provide good cover at the same time. Anything was a step up at this point.
A string of bells jingled as I opened the shop door. Very old-school, which I guess made sense because the whole shop was like stepping through a time warp to the eighteen hundreds. There were fancy little shelves holding fancy little teacups. Each of the windows held a fully set table with cloth napkins, shiny silver, and a hundred more tiny, breakable things that would probably shatter if I looked at them too hard. The battered wooden floor had been scattered with old-fashioned floor rugs to create separate display areas, along with strategically placed side tables and even a couple of old dressers. It was clever, although how the hell it made enough money to keep the doors open was beyond me—couldn’t be much market for specialty tea shit in a town like Hallies Falls.