Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 74875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“We’re just a bunch of like-minded individuals,” he shrugged.
“Individuals that have all seen prison time.” I filled in the blank.
He shrugged. “I don’t think any of them but Evander has seen prison time.” He paused. “But I haven’t really heard much about him since I’ve been in the slammer, so it could’ve happened. As for me and Evander? I think we’re just misunderstood.”
I wanted to laugh.
I didn’t dare.
“Misunderstood how?” I persisted.
He tilted his head to the side.
“Is your dad coming to interrupt us today?” he asked, changing the subject.
I frowned and looked at him quizzically. “No, why?”
His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and he was as closed off as one could be without actually getting up and leaving the room.
He gestured to the window behind me with his chin, and I turned to find my father standing in the inner sanctum of my office, staring at me through the glass window that portioned off one half of my office from where I met with patients.
“Apparently, he is,” I said, standing up. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see what he wants.”
Tate shrugged and put his feet up onto the coffee table that’d been separating our two chairs.
I got up, making sure that both of my feet were firmly underneath me, before I took a step in my heels.
I was still getting used to them.
I was more of a flats kind of girl, but I’d been informed by my best friend that professionals didn’t dress like I did—or had.
She’d then gone out and forced me to buy a whole new wardrobe. For the most part, I adored the clothes, but the heels were taking time to get used to.
The clothes made me feel free. The heels were an almost defiant thing just for me, that I wore—even though it was likely that professionals did wear flats—just so I could act like I wasn’t the preacher’s daughter that everyone knew before I went away to college.
The only problem was that normally my father wouldn’t see me in them.
I knew the moment that I got up, and his eyes went from the top of my head to the bottom of my shoes, that this wasn’t going to go well.
I thought about closing the blinds, and then sending Isidra, my receptionist, a text message to tell her to get rid of my dad, but I couldn’t do that to Isidra.
I glanced once over my shoulder to find Tate’s eyes not on me or my father, but on the window that led outside. Specifically, a car. My father’s car.
I should’ve known when Tate’s eyes first strayed to the window, and I heard the familiar purr of the engine, that it was my father.
I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve closed the blinds.
Instantly, I pushed that thought away.
I was a psychologist. Sometimes I had patients that were all over the spectrum. Some of them could be completely sane, while others could have problems.
I didn’t want to be closed in my office, and not have a way for Isidra—or anyone walking by—to see that my patient was going fucking nutso and killing me with one of my paperweights.
Yes, I had an overactive imagination, and no, I’d never had any indication that a patient was going to kill me. However, a lot of times my patients were unstable, and I wasn’t a stupid woman. I planned ahead, just in case.
My father knocked on the door again, his impatience evident.
I winced and hurried.
He’d never once come to my work.
Why had he now?
I opened the glass door and smiled at my father, my belly immediately tightening into a knot of dread at seeing the displeasure on his face.
“Hennessy Harmony Hanes, what in God’s name are you wearing?”
I looked down at my outfit.
It wasn’t bad.
The skirt was below my knees. It was tight, yes, but it wasn’t revealing. The shirt was a flowy black number that was held in place by a wide red belt.
The only thing one could call revealing about the entire outfit was the lace camisole I had on underneath of it, circumventing the cleavage that one would normally see with this shirt. Even then, the camisole was above the part in my breasts.
“I’m wearing a skirt and shirt, Father.”
My father looked disgusted with me.
“You’re wearing hooker heels.”
Chapter 3
Ladies, Wal-Mart panties will get the same attention that Victoria’s Secret panties will if you’re with the right person.
-Food for thought
Tate
“You’re wearing hooker heels.”
My eyes went from the reverend’s car to the reverend himself, and what I saw made me want to gag.
The man hadn’t changed a single day since I’d last seen him before he’d gone to prison.
He was still as nasty now as he was then.
Dressed impeccably in a white button-down shirt, black slacks, and patent leather shoes, he looked like he was about to head straight to church.