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I cared for Ronnie deeply, but the more I hear the venom in Trent’s voice, the more skeptical I get.
Trent has spewed poison, and it’s killing off all the good feelings I have. A part of me, growing larger by the day, questions why the money was left to me.
It’s obvious why it didn’t go to Erin. She’d blow through it faster than a virgin popping his cherry.
But me? When he had a wife, a daughter, a son? Could it really be because Ronald thought of me as his daughter?
“He knew the truth would come out,” I tell Trent, just to throw him off balance. To even our hand. “After Ronnie died, Erin told me he was planning an appeal on his sentence.”
“Let me guess,” Trent drawls out, the sarcasm as thick as the humidity. “Ronnie thought by placing his money in your name, it’d sit in limbo until he was released.”
Well, yeah.
That was the theory I was running with.
But he made it sound like a stupid idea. As if I had a part in this grander than I was capable of.
With all the things I’ve learned about Ronnie, I don’t think he ever intended for me to know about the money.
He probably put it in my name solely to hide it until he got out of jail. He probably intended to transfer it to himself after he was released.
But I don’t tell Trent this.
That would mean letting him win.
The only thing that seems to dent his ego is the idea that Ronnie loved me as a daughter. The idea to use that to hurt Trent gains speed inside me. It’s a horrible thought. Alas, I’m dealing with a horrible person.
I can’t let him walk over me like this.
“No,” I tell Trent, following him out of the building at breakneck speed. His strides are so long, and he gives no fucks about my inability to keep pace. “It’s just a theory, but it makes more sense that he gave it to me because I matter to him. He considered me as his own daughter. Told me so himself.”
Trent walks straight to a car parked on the street, ignoring me. I think he’s reached his bullshit quota for the day, but I’m not done.
“He’d buy me ice cream, take me textbook shopping, and help me with my homework when I needed special insight.”
Trent nods to his driver, sliding past the door the hatted man holds out for him. I didn’t peg Trent Aldridge as the type of man who’d relinquish control behind the wheel, but then again, I don’t know anything about him. All I know is he’s the asshole I’m now living with.
A very rich one, by the looks of this Mercedes.
The driver bows a little, motioning for me to enter after Trent. So much for ladies first. Not quite the gentleman, but I guess I can’t expect much from someone hell-bent on making my life insufferable.
“Money can’t buy class,” I say as soon as my butt touches the leather seat. “Ronnie used to tell me that. Guess I see where he first observed it.”
No answer.
I reach forward for the A/C at the same time Trent does. Our fingertips touch, and it feels like I’m being electrocuted.
It’s like the anger built with each word from me dissipates, but whatever replaces it is intense. So intense, I cave first, snatching my hand back and cradling it in my lap.
What the hell was that?
The uncertainty of it is almost enough to make me retract my taunts. Almost.
He was turning the A/C toward me, which is the polite thing to do, but it doesn’t mean he is a nice guy.
That is the last description I’d use on a man actively trying to make my life a living hell.
I scurry to the furthest edge of the seat, staying as far from Trent as possible. The cabin is small. I can smell him everywhere. His presence, his scent, him.
