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Payton stays by the door, even as Mr. Baker returns to his seat, nodding to the empty chair he pulled out.
My gaze scans over her, followed by the scumbag lawyer.
Maybe she’s working with him?
They could have concocted the plan together.
Finally, she steps into the room. There’s a question in her eyes. Something like rage and fear twisting in one hailstorm within them.
If anyone knew the shit I’m thinking of doing to her, they would say I’m crazy.
It’s not about the money. Sure, it sucks to lose something that’s rightfully my family’s, but that’s not why I’m doing this. We have more money than we can spend in ten lifetimes.
It’s the principle.
Payton might not have technically fucked with my family’s life, but she’s the reason for our pain. She is the only one I can hurt. And I will.
Revenge is a dish best served cold.
And I am about to serve hers up with extra fucking ice.
“What do we have to talk about?” she asks, making me want to roll my eyes at her, but I’m not some prepubescent teen, so instead, I glare.
“So much,” I deadpan. “Now, Payton, please make yourself comfortable. I know this isn’t my office, but I also know we will be here for a long time.”
“I don’t understand why,” she mutters under her breath before finally taking a seat and turning her attention back to the weasel shit lawyer.
If I was unsure of his involvement, it’s looking clear to me now. He definitely has a hand in this, so that’s why my plan is in place.
“Don't look at him,” I order. “He has nothing to add. He is merely the moderator.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do?” she asks him, ignoring what I just said to her.
I can feel my skin heating.
She is infuriating.
“Ms. Hart, other than advise you, there is nothing I can really do regarding the late Mr. Aldridge’s will. As I said before, the trust doesn’t revert to you until your twenty-second birthday, which isn’t that far off. Maybe—”
“There is no maybe!” She jumps to her feet.
“Sit down,” I fire, and I watch as she stumbles as if she’s not sure what to do.
Her confusion on how to approach this lingers in the air.
“Sit down, now.”
She does what I ask and sits back in the chair. She’s obviously nervous. My voice probably scared her, but I’m sick of this shit.
Her knee bounces while her nails sink into the skin of her palms.
After a beat, there is a tightness to her jaw that wasn’t present before.
She’s angry.
It’s not just the look that she fires off, nor is it the lines that furrow around her eyes that give her away. No. Her hatred seeps out of her like an intoxicating perfume.
I want to sniff it up and wear it.
