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 a condescending, arrogant jerk. Yet, despite this, I need to play nice.
Which sucks.
“I’m ready to go when you are,” I say, taking an extra step away from him and feeling the distance like a punch to my gut.
“Did you eat something?”
“No.” I raise my eyebrow. “Should I? Are we going to be out long?”
I thought we were eating together, but things are never clear with Trent.
“Only a few hours. When we’re done, it’ll still be early. You can eat after.”
“You’re coming with me?” I say, brows shooting up.
His steady gaze drills into me. “What did you think I was doing?”
“Why do you always answer a question with a question?”
“Because I don’t answer stupid questions.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“No witty response.” He laughs, and I think I freeze in shock.
It’s a pretty sound. Melodic, masculine, and just so . . . him.
My brain is too tired to keep up this back-and-forth banter.
“I give up,” I declare. “No matter what I say, you always have to be sarcastic and completely intolerable. You never give me a real answer. You never say anything. You never engage. I’m sick of hearing the questions. I’m sick of the personal attacks. Again, you win. Tell me where we are going, and let’s go.”
To his credit, he doesn’t gloat at my defeat.
Instead, he steps past me and says, “Okay. Let’s.”
I follow him as he leads the way to the underground garage and the fancy car I took, only to round the fancy Aston Martin beside it.
Of course, it’s expensive.
Of course, it’s super clean.
I bet my next task will be to wash it. Coupled with a ridiculous command like clean it with your pinky finger.
I’m shocked—mouth-hanging-open shocked—when he swings the car door wide for me.
It’s not a date.
We are going to volunteer.
We don’t even like each other.
Started out the evening with a mini-argument, to no one’s surprise.
But I’m shocked by his manners. Usually, since he avoids me, fires sarcastic comments at me, and treats me with disdain, I assumed he would make me walk.
“No driver today?” I ask as I sit down in the passenger seat. “Not even a private helicopter? You’re losing your edge, Trent.”
“Michael has the night off. And I like to drive. It’s calming to me.”
File that away in the folder of random facts I find interesting about Trent Aldridge.
That being the only one so far.
Don’t forget the gray sweats.
Trent starts the car, and we’re off, weaving our way through rush-hour traffic.
The city is congested due to the time of day.
Before moving in with Trent, I never came to the city at five o’clock on a workday, but now, the terrible commute is the bane of my existence, too.
It doesn’t seem to bother Trent. He just drives, not uttering a word, until he finally parks. There’s something easy about the way he maneuvers the wheel. Like he’s comfortable in control. I know this, of course, but it’s another thing to see it without being on the receiving end. I find that I enjoy the sight.
Get your head straight, Payton. And whatever you do, don’t think about how you just touched yourself to thoughts of him. Fuck. Head out of the gutter. Look at something else. Think of anything else.
I take in my surroundings as subtly as I can. I’m not familiar with this area or where we are. I don’t know the West Side all that well.
But I’m sure he’ll fill me in with whatever I’m about to endure. Something tells me this is the moment I have been scared of, that he’s finally going to unleash hell on me. Because up until this moment, although it’s been annoying, nothing has been bad.
Eventually, the other shoe must drop.
Something tells me it just did.
20
Trent
* * *
This should be fun.
Her eyes are wide.
There’s something lurking within them. Suspicion, excitement, and something more foreign. Something I can’t identify. I expected her to be nervous, to have her guard up, but this recent development throws me off. Especially the pinkish excitement lighting up her cheeks. Now that I think about it, she’s been flushed since she showed up in front of my room.
“Ready?” I ask, taking inventory of her.
At my attention, her head turns away from me, fixed outside the window.
Now that’s more like it.
“As I’ll ever be,” she mutters and latches on to the door handle harder than necessary.
“Come on.”
Together, we walk into the building. She doesn’t know I own it. That it’s one of my many investments. Well, technically, since it brings in less profit than a fucking lemonade stand, it’s a passion project. A piece of property I bought, renovated, and transformed for the sake of my mother. When the time came, I wanted to be ready. I didn’t expect it to come so fast.
I built Cresthill to help older people who didn’t have anyone to take care of them and who deserved to live a good life. Mom has Ivy and me, but back when she and Dad were still married, this would’ve been a good place for her, for them if he hadn’t abandoned her.