Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 121946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Trent Aldridge has a heart.
He is not a cold, callous villain.
It’s just me he hates.
It’s an ugly truth. One made uglier by the beauty I witnessed at Cresthill. When I finished cleaning the bathrooms, I headed back to Margret to see where I needed to go next, and I saw Trent with the same older man playing cards. The one who called me Trent’s girl. Trent threw his head back, laughing with everything in him. Then he dipped to the floor, tying the man’s shoes.
I can’t reconcile the idea of Trent literally on the floor tying someone’s shoes.
No matter how hard I try, it makes no sense. He takes away my place to live.
He takes away my money for food unless I work for him.
He looks at me like he wants to devour me, making it hard for me to even look at him.
But this . . .
Tonight.
The kindness everyone has toward him? It makes no sense.
Unless, and it’s a big unless, he extends the same kindness toward them.
“You were serious about me volunteering,” I whisper.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
We fall back into silence. I still can’t believe it. We zip past cars at breakneck speed. This is the Trent I’m more familiar with. In control. Living fast and hard.
Fast and hard.
God. My cheeks flush. I’m disappointed in myself for touching myself thinking about him. And we’re right back to square one, only I know he has a heart. One that beats for everyone but me.
Why do you care, Payton?
“Volunteering,” I blurt out, forcing the embarrassment out of my head.
“Is that a question or a statement, Payton?”
“I’m just surprised,” I answer honestly.
“Yeah, well, happy to keep you on your toes during our time together.”
I turn my body to face him. “Why do you have to be such a dick?”
“That’s an upgrade from asshole.” The corner of his mouth twists . . . up? Down? I’m not sure. He looks both pleased and annoyed. Quite a feat. “What can I say? I was born that way. I get that trait from dear old Daddy Ronnie.” He keeps his eyes on the road as he answers.
“He wasn’t like that with me,” I mutter under my breath, and I realize as soon as I do, I shouldn’t have.
“No, he sure didn’t try to sell you to pay off a debt.” His shoulders rise and fall fast. He’s forcing back his anger. It’s sad that I consider that a development.
I decide to feed the beast. I can’t help it. “No matter how many times you tell me that, I have a hard time believing it . . .”
“Go speak to my sister,” he deadpans, switching lanes with speed and precision. “She can tell you all about it.”
My heart leaps. I’m not used to driving, let alone at speeds like this. I can’t wait until we get back into a congested part of the city, where there’s traffic to slow him down.
“I’d rather not,” I mutter.
“You’d rather pretend he was a good guy. It wipes the blood from the money. I get it. I don’t respect it, but I get it. Cowardly as hell,” he adds with so much derision, the temperature in the car rises in an instant. “Well, I’m sorry to break it to you, princess, he wasn’t good.”
“It’s not about the money,” I start before giving up. It’s not like he’ll believe me when I say I actually cared for Ronnie, and the desecration of his memory is difficult to stomach. I pivot to his last sentence. It’s the only thing I have undoubted grounds to attack. “If you knew me at all, you would know your nickname isn’t fitting.”
“Twenty-two million dollars says it is.” He scoffs and slams on the brakes.
The car jerks to a stop. That’s when he finally looks at where I’m sitting beside him in the passenger seat. The expression on his face tells me a lot. None of which I want to hear.
I know you think very little of me. You’re not exactly high on my Christmas card list, either.
“Yet, I don’t have that money.” I give him a pointed look, refusing to avert my gaze, even when his attention is almost sickening. My stomach churns faster than a laundromat spin cycle.
Trent returns his eyes to the road. “You might never have it either.”
The anger this man has for me is palpable.
Like a noose tightening around my throat, never failing to remind me it’s there.
I’ve had it. “What is your deal?” I throw my hands in the air. Months of anxiety, anger, grief, and heartbreak burst out of me with my words. “I get it. You hated your father. But what the hell did I ever fucking do to you?”
“Change of plans,” he announces, making a U-turn that has me reaching for the center console.
My fingers brush against his thigh with the movement.