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)
He’s pissed by my outfit of choice.
The way his jaw is locked makes me want to laugh.
Allowing my brain to empty of all the BS, I think of everything I read this past month. I think of all the things I know about this household. About this man.
A man bitter and angry.
Hurt.
And probably lonely.
A little boy whose father probably wasn’t there for him.
A man who had no role model.
I think about it all, and finally, I open my mouth and speak.
As I do, I never tear my gaze from his.
“Carl Jung once said there is no coming to consciousness without pain. In life, the only true obstacle we face is ourselves. We must face our pain. Address our faults. Stop placing blame on others.” I stop, take a deep breath, and continue, “We must face our demons. Even if we know the process won’t be easy, we need to step forward from the shadows. The things that hurt us can also shape us into remarkable people. When I was a child, I was homeless . . .”
I then talk of forgiveness. Of strength. I talk of things I probably shouldn’t.
I speak from my soul. From my past. I say things that make me bleed. But when I do, I hold my head high and never break eye contact.
Not even when I want to.
Not even when his forehead pinches.
Not even when I steer the topic to fathers and sons.
Not even as he looks like he might kill me.
When I’m finished, I smile broadly, turn, and walk away. I head toward my room. Needing air. Needing to compose myself.
As strong as I appeared, this whole escapade has hurt me.
I didn’t just allow myself to feel for this man hell-bent on hurting me, but I also allowed myself to be a pawn again.
Because that’s what I am.
A piece to play with in his little twisted game of revenge on a man who is dead and no longer here to play.
I’m halfway down the hall when someone grabs my arm.
Then, before I can comprehend what is happening, I’m thrown against the wall, and his mouth is on mine.
The heat sears through me.
Need, want, and desire buckle me right to my core.
I should not kiss him back.
I shouldn’t let this happen.
There is no way having his mouth on mine is a good idea.
He’s an asshole.
He wants to ruin my life.
But for some insane and crazy reason, I can’t help myself. I allow myself this one blip of stupidity and kiss him back.
Just once.
We have been dancing around this crazy waltz of hate and desire for weeks. From the moment I saw him in the lawyer’s office till today, I have been fighting my desire.
One kiss is okay.
Only one.
And it will be enough.
We’re all teeth and tongue.
Hate and lust.
My arms wrapping around his neck.
I pull him closer.
It’s a desperate kiss.
Frenzied. Urgent. Primal.
But as fast as it starts, it stops. Then he pushes me off him and wipes his lips with the back of his hand as if he’s ridding them of something dirty.
The moment is shattered.
I crash back into reality.
“Put clothes on,” he hisses before turning on his heel and storming back down the hallway.
32
Trent
* * *
Why the hell did I do that?
I have done a lot of stupid things in my life, but this . . . ?
Yeah, this takes the cake.
Kissing Payton.
Her soft, sweet lips.
Fuck.
I can’t even form a sentence as I barrel back into the living room.
My jaw is locked. My hands are clenched.
I need a drink.
Now.
I don’t make eye contact with anyone.
Over my shoulder, I bark orders, and Mia, my pseudo date, follows me, judging by the clicking of her heels.
She was supposed to be here early to give me the edge.
Instead, Payton turned it all around on me.
Her words resonated inside me.
* * *
For the first time in my whole miserable existence, I felt seen. Of all the people in my life, Payton broke down the wall I formed around my heart and fucking saw me. She saw me for more than the trust fund kid.
More than the funny friend.
More than the corrupt investor.
More than the angry son who inherited a shattered dynasty.
She had a first-row seat to the Trent show, and she didn’t miss a beat.
I should have stayed put.
But I couldn’t.
Words had to be said, so I followed her.
Then . . . I don’t know what my plan was. To say something? To tell her she was wrong? That she didn’t know me? That everything she said was a load of shit?
All of the above?
Instead, I kissed her.
Big mistake.
I still taste her on my lips.
She tastes like strawberries.
Sweet yet tart.
I can’t even allow myself to think about it because the more I do, the angrier I get. How this woman managed to mind-fuck me, I can’t possibly begin to understand. I am so pissed at myself. Pissed I let her get to me when this whole scenario was designed to rattle her.