Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 119650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
I look between Mom and Orlando before glancing toward the car. “I don’t understand,” I say, my brows furrowed. “What’s going on?”
“Orlando bought you a new car, sweetheart. Aren’t you excited?” she questions, her hand against Orlando’s chest as she glances back toward the Maserati. “We were going to wait until this weekend, but I was just too excited. I knew you would love it.”
No. Fuck no.
“What—why?”
Orlando chuffs. “Why?” he questions as though it’s the most ridiculous question he’s ever been asked. “Because I can. Because your car was wrapped around a tree, and you’ve been driving your mother’s old car. You are a Channing now, and I won’t have my daughter driving around in anything less than respectable.”
“Stepdaughter,” I clarify in disgust, the phrase daughter making me feel sick. “And I am not a Channing. I am an Ashford. Some sham wedding ceremony can’t change that.”
“Brielle,” my mother gasps in horror, looking at me like I’m some kind of stranger. “When a man purchases you a Maserati, you say thank you.”
“Are you kidding me?” I scoff. “Where’s the self respect in that? If a man offers to fuck me on the side of the road, am I supposed to smile and say sure thing, how do you want me? Or how about if some old rich guy demanded I uproot my whole life and move into his mansion to become his little pet to show off to all of his friends? Oh, wait. You’ve already done that.”
“I swear, Brielle,” she seethes. “I have had it with you. You are the most ungrateful child I have ever met. How dare you be so disrespectful. Look at this amazing life you have. Orlando has just bought you a Maserati for Christ’s sake. A Maserati. And you haven’t even got the decency to say thank you.”
“Are you kidding me, Mom? Who do you take me for? I’m not stupid. I know a payoff when I see one,” I say. “You don’t think it’s suspicious that he wants to buy me a fancy new car only days after I threaten to derail his whole career, a move which would put him behind bars for the rest of his life? Come on, Mom. You’re smarter than that. At least, you used to be.”
“Listen here,” Orlando says, stepping forward.
“No, you listen here,” I say, cutting him off. “Thank you, but no thank you. I’m not interested in your blood money, or your payoffs, and I certainly don’t want anything you bought with money made from dirty deals and accepting bribes. If you want my approval, then start acting like a real man. Until then, you can take your Maserati and shove it up your ass. Better yet, save it for whichever whore you inevitably start screwing when you get bored of playing house.”
Done with Orlando’s bullshit attempt of bribery, I turn on my heel and storm right for Tanner’s bike, skipping over the small bushes lining the property. “Brielle,” Mom roars, calling after me. “Get back here right this instant. I am not finished with you.”
Stepping up to Tanner’s side, I push up onto my tippy toes and brush a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. “Please take me away from here,” I beg him.
“My pleasure,” he says, before pointing to the back of the bike.
I don’t hesitate, throwing a leg over the bike and scooting in close to feel Tanner right at my core. The rumble of the engine vibrates through me and excites me in a way it simply shouldn’t. I pull the helmet over my head, fix my bag on my back, and not a moment later, Tanner hits the gas. We take off at a million miles an hour, more than ready to leave Mom and Orlando’s bullshit behind me.
Chapter 33
TANNER
“You sure about this?” I ask, a smirk kicking up the corner of my lips as I watch Bri in the driver’s seat of my Mustang, her hands shaking with nerves as the sheer power from the engine rattles the whole car. “You don’t have to do this. I’d understand if you wanted to bitch out.”
Her mouth drops and she gapes at me. “Bitch out?” she questions, more than offended despite the way she still sits there, refusing to hit the gas and get the show on the road. “Since when do I ever bitch out?”
I grin back at her. “Then by all means, let’s do this shit.”
“Right, okay,” she mutters, her brows slowly ruffling as her lips twist with uncertainty. “Oh, God.”
Laughter tears at my chest, realizing that we could be sitting here for a while, and just as I go to offer to switch positions, Bri hits the gas like she’s running from the cops, and I fly back against my seat with a heavy oomph, desperately reaching for the holy shit bar.