Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
I doubted I’d pass a credit check anyway—another little gift from my ex. All the bills had been in my name, and he never paid them. I didn’t know this. Not until the end. Now, no one would approve me for a credit card, so I couldn’t actually build up credit to look trustworthy on paper.
Not for the first time, I cursed my ex—and myself for putting me in situations where I had to live with assholes whom I hated. Why continue to be employed by Beau and suffer his moods, his withering stares, and the way my thighs tightened when I thought about him with his shirt off?
I’d caught him coming out of the shower, running to the laundry room for a clean shirt—at least that’s what I deduced. I had not been expecting to see a shirtless Beau. Nor was I suspecting a shirtless Beau to be so cut. His long torso was chiseled like a Greek god. He’d always looked fit underneath his flannels—the ones he wore even on the unseasonably warm days—and I’d seen his biceps in a tee, but this was something else entirely. Abs. Defined. A peppering of dark hair on his chest descending from his navel to the waistband of his jeans…
I’d jerked my gaze up, suddenly aware that I was almost staring at my employer’s crotch.
My body jolted as I caught Beau’s gaze. He did not look annoyed as he normally did. He looked … hungry. For me.
My mouth had parted, and my heart had thrummed. Then Clara ran into the hall, looking for us, and the moment—if that’s what you could call it—was over.
For a split second, he’d stared at me like he wanted me. But he was a man. From what I understood, a man who didn’t have a girlfriend and hadn’t in a long while. It was biology, nothing else. And even if he was attracted to me, it didn’t change the fact that he hated me. You could still be attracted to people you hated.
Case in point: me to him.
I would’ve left. Should’ve left when all this became clear. That despite our mutual disdain for each other, there was some physical attraction that defied logic and sense.
Leaving was the most prudent and safe option.
But I didn’t.
Even if he hadn’t paid well, even if I didn’t get the benefits and good sheets, allowing me to exist in the picturesque town of Jupiter, I would’ve stayed. Because of Clara. The most precious little girl I’d had the honor of caring for.
The mere thought of saying goodbye to her made my chest hurt. So I endured. And it became more bearable. The better Clara got meant Beau becoming busier at the restaurant, resulting in me seeing him less. I also got to interact more with his extended family and their friends as Clara got better. Not Beau’s friends —he didn’t have friends because he was an asshole—but his sister-in-law's friends and family. Their children.
I’d never had a group of friends like that. I’d never seen people care for each other the way they did, certainly not in my own family or even my in-laws. As much as I wanted to in my adult life, I had never been able to forge those types of bonds. Even the scant friends I had made in high school scattered when I got married.
My husband had wanted me to focus on being his wife and creating our family. Because I so desperately wanted a family, wanted to be loved, I hadn’t seen that as the giant red flag it was, succumbing to four years of hell with him.
I would never again let myself be blind to red flags in men.
And despite Beau Shaw being seriously hot, he was a walking red flag. One I was cordial to because he paid me, but one I sometimes secretly plotted misfortune on. Nothing terrible—just a flat tire, a bad hair day, a second-degree burn in the kitchen.
I had been contemplating all of this, staring at the white ceiling, lying in the small twin bed in my “room” at Beau Shaw’s house.
The room itself was sparse. When I’d arrived, it was nothing more than a storage room for some of Clara’s old toys with a twin-sized bed in the corner. My belongings didn’t add much. My worn suitcase held Walmart clothes, shoes, and underwear, a few worn paperbacks, rudimentary toiletries, a photo of my brother and me, and that was about it.
It had depressed me, how my whole life fit into a cheap suitcase with nothing remotely interesting or valuable inside it.
That was going to change, I promised myself. I was going to change. I was going to stick it out until Clara went to kindergarten. I’d have enough money by then to get back to school myself and out of Beau Shaw’s orbit.