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Something is wrong with me. This girl has me all types of wrong. What does it say about me that, when she’s around, I act like an idiot who can’t control his dick?
The distraction I sought? Didn’t work. I needed something harder than liquor, which is not in the cards. Or I can just fuck her, use her as a distraction, and move on with my life.
This thought only makes me angrier.
The possibility of double-dipping with my fucking father is disgusting. I shouldn’t harden at the sight of her. If she had an affair with my dad, I am going to reanimate him from the dead and murder him, then I’m going to murder her, too.
I am about to turn around, avoid a double homicide, and walk out the door when she moves, and a scream ricochets through the room.
“Do you mind?” I yawn, pretending she doesn’t bother me. “I don’t want the whole house to wake up.”
“Why are you here?”
“It is, in fact, my house and my kitchen, last I checked. What are you doing here is the better question.”
“I was hungry.”
“Okay . . .”
“I didn’t eat dinner.”
“Why not?”
She doesn’t answer. A part of me wondered if she’s one of those closet eaters. I noticed she never eats when I am around.
“You do know. So just spit it out.”
“I was afraid eating your food would inspire you to add another stipulation.”
“So instead, you scurry into my kitchen at night, like a nocturnal rodent, and raid my fridge?” I don’t mention the fact that she’s already been caught, on multiple occasions, by my staff and the many hidden cameras, which she hasn’t seemed to notice. “Maybe Cinderella wasn’t too far off point for a nickname. But it’s not quite hitting the mark. Hmm . . . Maybe we should nickname you after the mouse.”
“Ass—”
“Asshole. I know. I know. You have now said this a million times.” I approach her, stepping beside her and ignoring it when her hip brushes against my thigh. Fuck me. “I suggest you crack open a thesaurus. Your language skills leave much to be desired. And while you’re at it, learn to act civilly. For someone who wants the money so bad, you really don’t know how to behave.”
“I don’t want the money that bad,” she lies.
It’s written all over her features.
She does.
She needs it.
Chapter
Nineteen
PAYTON
Devil.
Anti-Christ.
Lucifer.
All better names that are much more fitting than Trent Aldridge.
He is evil personified.
