Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“We really shouldn’t be talking.” Her voice was cool. “It’s a conflict of interest.”
“I know.” Sheila ran one hand through her hair, looking sad. “But I just wanted you to know that I still care about your father. I care about him a lot.”
To Hayden’s absolute shock, a couple of tears trickled from the corners of Sheila’s eyes. Even more shocking, the tears didn’t look like the crocodile variety.
“If you care, then why are you trying to take everything he owns?” she couldn’t help but snap.
A flash of petulant anger crossed Sheila’s face. Yup. There was the Sheila she knew. Hayden had seen that look plenty of times before, usually when Sheila was trying to convince Presley to buy something outrageous and not getting her way.
“I’m entitled to something,” Sheila said defensively, “after everything that man put me through.”
Right, because Sheila’s life was so unpleasant. Living in a mansion, wearing haute couture, not paying a dime for anything…
“I know you think I’m the bad guy here, but you need to know that everything I’ve done is a result of… No, I’m not going to blame Pres.” The tears returned, and Sheila wiped her wet eyes with a shaky hand. “I saw that he was spiraling, and I didn’t try to help him. I was the one who sent him into another woman’s arms.”
“Pardon me?” A knot of anger and disbelief twined Hayden’s insides together like a pretzel. Sheila was actually insinuating that Presley had been the one to stray? That was preposterous, and her dislike for the woman quickly doubled.
Sheila eyed her knowingly. “I guess he left out that part.”
“I have to get going,” Hayden said stiffly, her jaw so tense that her teeth were beginning to ache.
“I don’t care what you think of me. I only want you to take care of your father, Hayden. I think he’s started drinking again and I just want to make sure someone is looking out for him.”
Without issuing a goodbye, Sheila left the building.
Hayden watched as her stepmother disappeared down the busy sidewalk, swallowed up by Chicago’s afternoon lunch crowd.
She couldn’t will herself to move.
Lies. It had to be lies, right? Her father would never break his marriage vows by hopping into bed with another woman. Sheila was in the wrong. She had to be.
I think he’s started drinking again.
The comment replayed in Hayden’s brain, making her toy nervously with the hem of her thin blue sweater. She’d thought her father’s eyes had looked bleary… And, fine, maybe he did have a drink or two before coming here, but Sheila’s remark implied that Presley’s drinking went beyond today. That at some point in time he’d suffered from an alcohol problem.
Was it true?
And if so, how hadn’t she known about it? She might not visit often, thanks to her hectic schedule at the university, but she spoke to her father at least once a week and he always sounded normal. Sober. Wouldn’t she have suspected something if he had a drinking problem?
Lies.
She clung to that one word as she pushed the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder and stepped through the doors. Sucking in a gust of fresh air, she headed for her rental, forcefully pushing every word Sheila had spoken out of her mind.
Eleven
Brody left the locker room after a grueling practice on Thursday afternoon, wondering if he’d made a big mistake by telling Hayden the next move was hers. It had seemed like the right play at the time, but today, after two hours of tedious drills topped off by a lecture from Coach Gray, he was rethinking the action he’d taken.
Or more specifically, regretting the action he wouldn’t be getting.
His body was sore, his nerves shot, and he knew a few hours in Hayden’s bed was all the medicine he needed.
He also knew she wouldn’t call.
You got cocky, man.
Was that it? Had he been so confident in his ability to turn Hayden on that he just assumed she’d want him to do it again?
Damn it, why hadn’t he taken her home with him? He’d seen the lust in her eyes, known that all he had to do was say the word and she’d be in his arms again, but he’d held back.
No, pride had held him back. He hadn’t wanted to go to bed with her knowing he’d twisted her arm into joining him for that drink in the first place. He wanted it to be her choice. Her terms, her desire.
It was almost comical, how this stubborn art history professor had gotten under his skin. She was so different from the women he’d dated in the past. Smarter, prettier, more serious, definitely more pigheaded. He knew he should just let her go, seeing as how she obviously didn’t want to pursue a relationship. But his instincts kept screaming for him not to let her out of his sight, that if he blinked, she’d be gone and someone important would be slipping through his grasp. It made no sense to him, and yet he always trusted his instincts. They’d never failed him before.