Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 36964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
“He’s right here,” Boston voice carries through the kitchen. “I can’t say it’s a pleasure to meet.” His heat surrounds me, my back to his front. A protective hand slides from my hip, fingers touching my stomach, where our child is safely growing inside me. The worry my father could escalate any and all situation eases with Boston by my side. “It’s time you leave, and don’t come back. You may know more people in this city than I do, but I’ve got more money, more time, and a fuck of a lot more power.”
I watch as Dad’s face turns redder. Virtual steam is come from his ears and nose. Mom had the forethought to move away. When we pulled apart from our hug, she decided to use herself, walking him backwards, putting herself in his line of sight.
“I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t talk to me like that. Isabelle is my wife, and Amelie is my daughter. I’m not leaving!” Dad slams his fist down on the countertop near where he stands. I jump back, Boston holding me steady the entire time. I bring my phone up, and unlock it, fingers pressing 9-1-1 without looking. The years texting as a teenager and in college, then working at the Inn, I had to multitask. School, work, social life, you learn how to text without looking. The last thing you want to be doing is walking, looking down at your phone, and run into another person or an object that doesn’t bounce back. You’d lose your phone as well as hurt yourself.
“Noah, leave. The last thing anyone wants is for you to make a scene, not for us but for yourself as well,” Mom says stoically, maintaining her composure when all I want to do is throw the first available cooking utensil—pot, baking sheet, cast iron skillet, it doesn’t matter as long as it hits him in a way that will keep him from running his mouth.
“I told you I am not fucking leaving!” I hit the speaker phone option on my phone.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” is blasted throughout the entire kitchen.
“Yes, I’d like to report a trespasser at LeBlanc Inn. We’ve asked him to leave several times, but he won’t. We’d like an officer to escort him off the premises.” I just made an enemy. What he doesn’t realize is the damn I once gave as a little girl is no longer there. In its place is a woman who will protect her family at all costs.
“This is fucking bullshit. I’m leaving. Amelie, you’ll regret this. Isabelle, just you wait until my lawyer gets ahold of your ass. I’ll own everything. Every fucking thing. And you, fuck you, coming into my family’s place in your expensive clothes. Stupid piece of shit!” My body propels itself forward, breaking away from the hold Boston currently has on me. What will I do once I reach my bastard of a father? Well, I have not one freaking clue. Slap him in the face, knee him in the balls, really, there’s no telling. Boston isn’t going to let that happen. His hand slides from my hip to my abdomen, and he takes a step back, bringing me with him.
“Calm down, beautiful. A man like that, you don’t fight fire with fire. You hit him where it hurts, in his wallet,” Boston whispers in my ear. I whip my head over my shoulder, trying to figure out what his game plan involves. He’s tight lipped, jaw set, clenching his teeth; it’s the look of determination that keeps me from questioning him further.
Finally, Dad decides to leave and gives us his back, slamming through the swinging doors so hard they hit the walls. Mom is startled yet stays standing, a hand to her throat and the weight of the world on her shoulders. “Boston, thank you. I’m not sure how I can ever repay you.”
“That’s good, because there isn’t a need. I’m going to call my attorney. With any luck, he’ll be down here tomorrow morning. Amelie, finish the call on the phone. Let them know he left, and you’d like to file a report all the same.” He presses a kiss to the side of my head, leaving me reeling yet again. I’m a fish out of water with my mouth opening and closing, attempting to recover from what transpired moments ago.
EIGHTEEN
Boston
“Man, when you need me, you really fucking need me,” Sly says into the phone when I call him after what went down.
“You are not wrong. Get whatever you can on Noah Boudreaux and destroy him. This takes precedence over the shit with my parents,” I seethe, my eyes still on the two women who are huddled together, talking quietly where Amelie and I were standing before the phone call.