Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 131459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 1
THE MEET
Chloe
Now…
I saw it. And when I did, I thought I got it.
She didn’t live in a condo or penthouse.
Her house was just like Dad’s.
It was in a different development. However, like Dad’s, it was a golf course community. Clearly, HOA rules stated no cars allowed to park on the streets, because the streets were vehicle free. The gated neighborhood was filled with different homes, though all had picture perfect landscaping, and all were one story.
There was a lot of white.
White houses.
White vehicles in the drives.
White golf carts zipping around.
I pulled into her driveway so she wouldn’t get slammed with an HOA notice.
She was standing in the door before I was fully up her walk.
Very slender. Blonde. Pretty.
Susan Shepherd.
The woman my father had an affair with, an occurrence that tore apart my family.
Although I’d seen pictures, laying eyes on her in the flesh, I saw that she did not remind me of my mom. Both were blonde, but Susan was thinner. There was a hard edge to her my mother could never have, I knew, because Mom had been through a lot, and she didn’t have it.
En fin, Susan’s expression wasn’t just closed.
It was boarded away.
I’d need a crowbar to get behind that.
Nevertheless, I was me, always up for a challenge, so I didn’t miss a step as I walked up to her house.
She didn’t close the door to me.
She also didn’t bar the door with her body.
Last, she didn’t welcome me.
She simply disappeared into the shadows of the house.
But she left the door ajar.
I took that as my invitation and followed her in.
The temperature was cool inside. The area spacious. The décor screamed “Interior Designer!” with very little personal flair to go with it.
Not much shocked me, but that did.
My father might not do personal flair, but he did do personality.
And her great room hinted at no personality.
Her voice was as hard-edged as the rest of her, even as she asked, “Would you like a drink, or is this not that type of visit?”
“I’m not certain what type this visit is,” I admitted.
“That makes two of us,” she replied.
She gave me a top to toe and again, I read nothing on her face.
“Do you drink iced tea?” she queried.
“No,” I answered.
“Diet Coke?”
“No.”
She didn’t put more effort into it, just lifted her brows.
“Espresso?” I requested.
She shook her head and mumbled, “Californians.”
She then turned and disappeared around a massive fireplace.
I was not often uncertain of what to do, but in that moment, I was.
Did I follow her?
See, I’d received my report from Uncle Corey’s lieutenant or spy or henchman or whatever Rhys Vaughan was.
Honestly, I was angry at Uncle Corey for a lot of things, primarily him taking himself from me, from all of us.
But the man knew how to leave an inheritance.
How many girls could say, after his death, their uncle left them a secret operative?
Rhys Vaughan had been thorough in looking into Susan Shepherd. However, he didn’t end his report with something useful. Say, a conclusion.
Perhaps, She’s a tough broad, but good deep down. She’ll make your father happy.
Or alternately, She’s a total bitch. Stay away.
Thus, I was there, in the home of the woman who slept with my dad even though she had to know he was very married, seeing as probably most everyone on the planet knew that fact. At least those that had access to Western media.
I decided to follow her. She wasn’t giving warm vibes, but I was an excellent judge of character, and no one was completely closed off (not even Uncle Corey, and he was the best I knew at that kind of thing).
Eventually, she’d give something away.
Her kitchen was as pristine and gorgeous and lifeless as her great room.
And she might have an issue with Californians, but she had an espresso maker, as well as a lovely, all-white espresso cup and saucer.
In other words, she wasn’t a complete philistine.
I knew she knew I’d followed her.
She didn’t say anything, nor did she look at me.
I walked to her island and stood there, resting my hand on it, watching her watch the machine spit out a stream of life’s blood.
She hadn’t filled a glass of iced tea for herself. She also didn’t leave the espresso to pour herself one.
So I was to have a drink, perhaps because she was from Indiana, and she might spontaneously combust if she didn’t offer the famed Hoosier Hospitality.
But she wasn’t going to make herself a drink because we were not two gals sitting down for a chat.
Message received.
When the machine completed its task, she put the cup in its saucer, turned, came to stand opposite the island from me and slid it across the counter my way.
“Cream?” she asked.
“No,” I answered.
“It was me,” she stated.
I said nothing.
She did.
“I deserve whatever you’re here to dish out. I didn’t chase him. I’m a lot of things, and not many of them are all that great, but I’ve learned to accept myself as who I am. That said, I have lines I don’t cross. At least, I do now. And that’s one of them. We started as friends. I wasn’t in the accepting-myself-for-who-I-was part then, and your dad helped me with that. In return, I listened to him, because at the time, he needed someone to listen…and hear the things he had to say. My feelings grew stronger, and I made the first move. I took it there. It was me.”