AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Tuck it in.”
“What?”
“Your shirt. Tuck it in. We can’t look suspicious."
“But I thought—I did the recording.” I scrambled to follow him towards the door. "I thought we were?—“
"Don't fucking try to trick me," he growled, before jerking it open.
He opened the door pointedly, not looking at me and my stomach sunk—I could only stare at him blankly.
What was I going to do? This was my last resort. How would we live without selling everything?
He grabbed my arm to hurry me along, then dropped it like he’d been burnt, giving me a wide berth. "Have a good day, Miss Duvall."
I hesitatingly stepped through the door, but turned back, determined to give it one last try.
He didn’t give me a chance, slamming it quickly behind me. I heard the click of the lock as I stared at the closed door in shock.
What the hell?
CHAPTER 12
Summer
Standing on the veranda of my house, staring out at the rolling storm coming in from the salt marsh beyond, I felt a deep, searing regret.
I couldn’t stop replaying that mortifying experience in my head: shame would follow me for the rest of my friggin life.
I was grateful Callie wasn’t home—she was out visiting friends, trying to drum up sponsors for her program at Crestmont. It was a prestigious art apprenticeship, and she, out of thousands of applicants, had been accepted.
The only bright spot in this horrific week was a call on the drive home—a waitressing job at a local diner.
But, even with the job, it wouldn’t be enough. And the pay for training me wouldn’t even begin to make a dent in the bills.
I was screwed.
How could I tell Callie that we were going to have to sell Darkmoor?
Clutching the envelope in my hand, I scanned the horizon, trying to get my desperate and spinning thoughts under control.
“Summer,” a voice broke me from my troubled thoughts. “I was looking for you.”
Benson’s limp seemed worse as he stepped out onto the veranda, not saying anything as he stood next to me—just as the rain reached the house. The sound of it was relaxing, even though everything else in my life was going to hell in a hand basket.
Once again, my thoughts drifted to the handsome stranger from the other night.
He’d offered to buy the house—he could solve all our problems.
It was annoying how often I thought of him—every time I stepped into the garden, I re-argued with him, making stronger points than before. I’d imagined taking dad’s whiskey from him, pressing my lips to the glass, staring into his eyes as I drank from the same spot his lips had touched.
I felt wild and alive when he was near, that he was the coming storm and I was waiting to jump in.
And yet, the guy was a jerk.
Expected everyone to bend to his will. To give him a number. To just sell this house, as if money was everything.
And yet, wasn’t it? We needed it to survive, and I suspected he was banking on that.
