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)
“Is it even a good idea for you to be seen with me?” Her statement breaks the haze of lust, pissing me off. Clearly, Amelie Boudreaux knows all about the Wescott family. It’d be hard not to. Dad’s next move is heading for Presidency, and I want fuck all to do with the shit that comes along with it. There’s a reason the escape from New York came at the time it did. That’s also why my father can’t stop blowing up my phone, causing me to block his number, along with his minions’ each time an unknown number appears.
“We’ll be talking about that, too. Don’t like the way you’re thinking about yourself. That’s a reflection of my shit touching you.” I should have made an effort to call or text her. “Now, let’s go. We’ll head back to LeBlanc Inn, I’ll check in for the week, and we’ll talk without having to worry about others overhearing.” I pull her away from the brick, hearing a car idling over my shoulder. My hand takes hers, and I lead her toward the car.
“Boston, I can walk to the LeBlanc. It’s only a few streets away.” Amelie puts the brakes on our walk.
“Why, when we’re both going in the same direction?” I ask. Finally, she allows me to guide her to the back door, reluctantly. I open it, and Amelie slides inside. I follow her. Scott doesn’t say a word, only nodding his head. The door is barely closed behind us when he’s heading to LeBlanc Inn. The driving down here in New Orleans is similar to New York City, though I’m not sure our potholes are quite this bad. It works in my favor, though, especially when Scott has to take a sharp turn to avoid colliding with another car on the narrow streets. Amelie is pressed against me, board straight, and I’ve got one fuck of a feeling that we have a lot of shit to talk about. This purchasing the building is only the tip of the iceberg.
FIVE
Amelie
“At least he’s gone, for now,” I tell the window. He’ll be back. He always is, especially since Mom moved out of their once shared home, not taking anything except her personal items. We turn into the small parking lot. I’m back in my designated seat, no longer pressed against Boston even though he felt good and smelt just as delicious as before.
“Did you say something?” Boston asks. I shake my head, not needing to repeat anything since it was inconsequential anyway. I’m opening the door the very second Scott, Boston’s driver, puts the car in Park. The automatic locks give way, and I’m out, taking a deep breath. Overwhelmed is the only word I can use for what is going on my head.
“Come on, we need to talk to Mom, and fast, then probably her attorney. I hate to bring you into my family drama. The divorce has been nasty, and it’s only getting nastier by the hour. She needs as much documented evidence as she can get.” This is the least he can do for me, also while I’m walking at a steady pace toward the side entrance, away from where the guests usually mingle.
“Amelie.” Boston’s hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me from taking the first step up the small concrete stoop where, when I was a girl, I’d eat the cookies Mom would bake for new guests. She’d save a few for me for when I came home from school as an afternoon snack. “Give me a second. If you’re going to need a statement from me, the least you can do is look at me. Damn, not ten minutes ago, there was nothing between the two of us. What’s with the wall, beautiful?” Boston has no idea. This is the real me when we’re not shrouded in darkness. My guard is always up; my father made sure of it.
“Much like I don’t know you, you don’t know me. This version is the one I have to keep up, especially when there’s a chance my father will return.” That’s partially the truth. The other flip of the coin is, well, I’ve got a secret of my own, one that I really need to talk to Eden about first, figure out where to go from here before I finally tell Boston.
“Fair enough. I’ll give your Mom’s attorney a statement. I’ll need to have mine on the phone through the process.” Crap, this is becoming a fiascos neither of us deserve to get involved in, least of all Boston.
“Shit, I didn’t even ask with your name and all. Is it even a smart idea to do this?” My shoulders droop, ass dropping to the step. Boston’s hand around my wrist disappears. A tiredness like no other hits me deep in my bones, the lack of sleep, dealing with my father, Boston showing up, not to mention the elephant looming above us.