Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Slowly, I reached into the bag and lifted the purse out. It even smelled like money. Was this a mistake? Had I gotten the wrong bag? Surely, Garrett hadn’t bought me this purse. He barely knew me. I wasn’t even nice to him.
I set the purse down on the counter and unzipped it. Inside was a matching wallet and my keys, my silver compact that Gypsi had bought at a consignment store three years ago for my Mother’s Day gift, and my lip gloss—or a new tube of the same lip gloss that had been in my purse—along with a small bottle of hand lotion. Again, the same brand as mine, but it was clearly new.
Then, I noticed the shiny phone and knew that wasn’t mine. I reached inside and picked it up and held it as the screen came alive. The picture of Gypsi and me on a boat that Micah had taken us out on was the screen saver, just like my phone, but this was a brand-new iPhone, and I would guess it was the newest model. I shook my head and stared at it. What was this? Sure, my phone had been ruined in the toilet water. I understood that, but my phone was an older model iPhone that Micah had given me when he upgraded.
The water in the shower shut off, and I grabbed the purse and shoved it back into the shopping bag. I didn’t want Gypsi to see this. It wasn’t like I was going to keep it. I had to take this back and get my purse and wallet back.
Garrett had had no right to take my things and replace them. Even if they had been soaked in someone else’s urine and… poop. I cringed, thinking about my things. Maybe they’d been impossible to clean. If the club wanted to replace my purse, then I would accept that, but it had to be the club, and it had to be a purse of equal value. Not something that cost more than my car was worth. As for this phone, it was going back too.
Ten
Fawn
The car was so clean inside that it almost smelled new.
Gypsi stared at me in shock after we opened the doors to get inside. “Holy crap, Mom! What did you have done? It’s as shiny inside as it is outside.”
I stood there, staring at the immaculate interior of my car, unable to form words. What in the world? This car hadn’t been this clean when I bought it. I sank down onto my seat that no longer had the coffee stain from when I slammed on the brakes and spilled my entire cup in my lap.
“Uh, the club had a detailer there and offered the employees a good price,” I lied, wishing I hadn’t been put in this position to lie to her.
She climbed in, and I stuck the key in the ignition.
“Why are all the lights gone? The engine, oil, and that strange one we didn’t know what it was—they were on yesterday,” Gypsi pointed out.
I watched, waiting for the lights to pop on. When nothing happened, I gripped the steering wheel tightly. What the hell?! Where were my lights? How had he gotten the car fixed and cleaned overnight?
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. I wasn’t willing to tell her another lie.
“Mom,” she said in her serious tone, “what is going on? That shopping bag in the house doesn’t have your purse in it. If it did, you’d have brought it with you. The car is ridiculously clean and is magically fixed. You’re not telling me something.”
I wasn’t telling her a lot of things. All of them revolving around Garrett Hughes.
I sighed and made myself loosen the grip I had on the steering wheel. “There is a wealthy member of the club. I think he did this. I’m going to talk to him tonight. I don’t want his charity. I’m not for sale.”
Gypsi let out a drawn-out, “Ohhh,” as if that made complete sense.
I glanced over at her. “What?”
She shrugged. “You and men. You draw them in without trying. Some rich dude got one look at you, and now, he’s tossing money at you. At least this one has money,” she said.
“I don’t want his money,” I stated firmly.
She smirked. “Is he ugly?”
He was so far from ugly that I doubted he even knew that word. I shook my head and backed the car up to face it the right way.
“So, he’s hot?” she asked.
Beyond hot.
“He’s not my type.”
“Ah, so he isn’t into illegal things, doesn’t drive a motorcycle, and has the potential to be stable,” she teased.
I knew she wasn’t judging me. She was making light of my choices in men, and she was right. If there was a bad boy, I would find him. It was a curse.