Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
The guilt rears its ugly head again, but I squash it down. “Cyber bullying? Who hates you so bad they’d steal your sex videos and email them to your workplace?”
Tate’s lips thin out and a flash of something gleams in his eyes. Then he completely shuts down, turning into a fucking robot. “I don’t know.”
Liar.
“We believe you,” Dad says gently.
We do fucking not!
Tate’s gaze has found his hands that wring one another in clear agitation. There’s more to this story. He may not have sent them, but someone did. People don’t go through that sort of effort for random strangers they don’t know.
This was personal.
Whether Tate was responsible or not, it doesn’t change the fact he harbors secrets that continue to jeopardize our family. Again, if Dad can’t see what’s clearly staring him in the damn face, then it’s my responsibility to take action.
There’s only one solution.
One that makes my skin crawl but also gives me great relief.
“You’re on probation,” I clip out, waving a dismissive hand at him. “This means I’ll be watching your every move. After this meeting, you’ll be moving into my home where you’ll take your meetings.”
Tate stiffens and jerks his head up to stare at me in confusion. “What? But I’m staying with Callum—”
“No,” I hiss, “you’re staying with me now. You want this job, that’s the condition.”
He turns to look at Dad, giving him a pleading look that might sway my father. Surprisingly, Dad walks over to Tate and squeezes his shoulder in comfort. He leans down and whispers something to him.
I make out the word, “headway.”
I’m sure Dad sees this as an opportunity to get inside my mind, but I’m not the fool around here. I can see right through all this and am the only one looking at Tate with any sort of skepticism. It’s exactly why Tate belongs with me. Where I can watch his every goddamn move.
“I have a cat,” Tate murmurs in a last-ditch effort to plead his case.
“I’ll dock your pay for cat boarding,” I deadpan. “Go pack your shit.”
The glare Tate shoots my way is murderous. Beyond the tears and humiliation is an anger that’s lurking. It makes me want to taunt that emotion out of him, bring it to the surface, and tame it into submission.
No one fucks with my family.
No one.
“Jude,” Dad says, “he’ll meet you outside in a few. I’d like to speak with Tate alone.”
I shoot warning daggers at Tate. He’s not going to sway my father. I won’t allow it to happen. With a clipped nod, I exit the office and stalk out of the house. After a brisk, short walk, I barge into Callum’s house. I pass by my brother’s office on the way to the stairs. He’s hard at work at his desk and Willa sits nearby at a laptop in a cozy armchair. They’re in the process of building a finance company now that Callum’s no longer a teacher. He’s a statistics and econ brainiac, so it suits him well.
Callum waves a hand as I pass but doesn’t ask what I’m up to. That’s the good thing about this family. We do what needs doing and usually the rest of us will fall in line. Callum trusts me to be in his house.
I make it into Tate’s room. Everything is neat and orderly. The only tell that an outsider lives here is the black cat sprawled out on the bed and the pet carrier tucked in the corner. I ignore the cat to hunt down Tate’s luggage. In the closet, I find one suitcase and a small amount of clothes. Quickly, I rip them all off the hangers and shove them into the luggage. Then I gather up his meager belongings in the bathroom, check the drawers in the room to remove anything left in there, and drop the suitcase on the bed next to the cat.
“Litter box?” I ask the cat.
He swishes his tail and meows at me. No help at all. Definitely docking Tate’s pay for this little freeloader. I eventually find the litter box and extra box of litter stowed in the open carrier.
“Let’s go, fucker.”
The cat stands and stretches before lazily walking toward the edge of the bed. I pull him into my arms and settle him on my shoulder. Thankfully, he hangs on while I grab the carrier and suitcase.
I nearly knock Willa over as I exit the guest room.
Her features fall and sadness glints in her eyes when she takes in my haul. “Tate’s leaving?”
“Moving in with me for the time being,” I bite out.
Until we fire him for real.
“What about Funky’s food and water bowl?”
“Who?”
She purses her lips. “The cat.”
“Bring it over later. Fucky will manage until then.”
“Jude, his name is Fun—”
Ignoring her, I sweep through the house in a whirlwind of anger, struggling to get the door open with all the shit I’m loaded down with and then make my way back over to Dad’s. Just as I stop in front of the porch, the front door opens.