Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
My father had seen his children as vehicles to further profit, bartering us and arranging marriages to suit his purposes. As I’d grown, my sisters tried to protect me from Prentice’s machinations. Their efforts were a waste of time. Prentice continued to ignore me, too afraid to try to set me up with one of his associates in case I embarrassed him. Which I most certainly would have, completely on purpose.
The best way to keep Prentice at a distance was to be the hellion he expected, a loose cannon he couldn’t trust. It worked to protect me from my father’s actions, but I couldn’t escape his words. When we crossed paths, he took every opportunity to remind me what a useless disappointment I was. I was born to be a party girl, beautiful but brainless. What makes you think you’re anything special?
Well, fuck him. He was dead, and I was still here. And more than that, I’d solved the riddle he’d been chasing for most of my life. I didn’t have the money, but I was a step closer than Prentice Sawyer would ever be. How could I stop now? My father might be dead, but I still wanted to prove him wrong. I needed to. I wanted the money and the triumph. I couldn’t walk away.
That was my ambition talking. I had a lot more ambition than anyone around me realized. Maybe too much, because chasing after Alan Buckley’s fortune was going to be a hell of a lot more painful than I’d thought. I’d planned to ignore Forrest, focus on the money, and walk away. I was fooling myself. I was playing with fire with every second I spent with him, risking my ability to walk away whole. He’d taken enough of my heart as it was. I didn’t need to hand him the rest.
Forrest sat beside me in silence, smoothly navigating the road back to Sawyers Bend. Everything would be so much simpler if I was over him. I didn’t want to care about the way he’d frozen when Mrs. Grady said he looked like his father. The way he’d gone still when he’d learned the key was his own name: Buck.
He’d come to Sawyers Bend to get revenge for the father he’d loved. I understood revenge. Solving the code and finding Alan’s fortune would be my own revenge, and I wanted it so badly I could taste it. I wanted to stand over my father’s grave and gloat.
So, I was a hypocrite. I was still furious with Forrest, but I understood why he’d come to Sawyers Bend. I snuck a glance at his profile. Why did he have to be so fucking good-looking? It wasn’t just the cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw or the way his hair twisted into soft curls at the top of his head, where he let it get a little longer.
I’d loved running my fingers through the short bristles at the back of his head, then sinking them into those luscious brown curls. And his hazel eyes, punctuated by flecks of green and gold at the center, his lashes so long I was torn between admiration and envy. I needed four coats of mascara for my lashes to look like that.
I’d tried, but I couldn’t forget what he looked like under that suit. Forrest wasn’t a fitness nut, but he ran and lifted weights most days. And God, did it show. Forrest Powell had stamina. I’d never had sex like that in my life. I’d had plenty of mediocre sex, some pretty bad sex, and some that was good enough. But getting naked with Forrest was like nothing I’d ever known. I’d shut off that part of myself in the year since he’d shattered my heart, not remotely ready to let anyone close enough to touch.
My broken heart wasn’t healed. Scabbed over, maybe, but all that raw pain was right under the surface. Now, to get the things I wanted most—the money, revenge on my father—I was stuck with Forrest Powell.
I glanced at his jacket pocket. “Can I see the card?”
After a pause, he pulled it out. I took it, examining it for anything I’d missed on my short initial viewing. There was nothing new. I lifted my phone and got a great shot of Forrest’s hand.
“No pictures,” he said. Tucking the card back in his pocket, he glanced at me, his eyes impenetrable. “You want to look at it? You do it with me.”
I huffed out a breath. “Fine.”
I tried to think. Mr. Webber hadn’t said anything concrete, but I could tell he knew we were in pursuit of something big. If it was my father’s wild-goose chase, I would have bet that any account at the end of the rainbow would be empty. But this was Alan Buckley we were talking about, and from what Mr. Webber had said, this was an adventure he’d planned to go on with his son. He wouldn’t stiff his own kid.