Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Ava’s mom is missing out on a lot. Ava’s been making a lot of big life decisions. She says having us around helps her realize what’s important, making it easy to figure out which direction to go.
I’m glad she feels that way. All I want to do in life is make her happy, so it’s incredibly rewarding to see her smiling and giggling like she is now, knowing I’ve contributed to her joy.
But Ava’s helped us a ton, too.
It turns out she has a natural talent for communication and languages. In our line of business, skills like hers can really come in handy.
Ava’s been helping Mason deal with some of his more difficult partners and clients. Noah and I have been talking about letting Ava handle our finicky high-net-worth customers, too.
We still haven’t brought this up with Ava. We’re trying to be careful and take things slow because this change could potentially muddy some waters.
We don’t want Ava to think of us as her employers. If she’s joining us, it’s going to be as a full partner. We’re going to have a legal document drawn up—Liam’s already working on it because we want to be ready with an offer for Ava to sign when we talk to her about it.
Whatever happens, it seems like Ava’s ready for a big change. She knows she’s definitely going to get a termination letter from the school soon, but she doesn’t look worried. Instead, she’s excited about other careers she could explore.
And we’re excited about inviting her to explore those options within our ever-expanding business.
Mason
Ah, I fucking love running my own business.
Have I already said that? I probably have. It’s a recurring thought in my head.
I love getting to set my own hours, and I love not having to account for my work to anyone but my own brothers.
If it weren’t for Hunter Meditour, I wouldn’t be able to spend two fucking months here in Ashbourne.
Maybe I still would've met Ava and we still might’ve fallen in love, but who knows?
One thing is certain; I definitely wouldn’t be able to do this, if it weren't for our business.
I creep in the dark behind the big dumpster. Looks like it used to be blue, underneath all the rust and stains that have collected on its surface. Luckily, it’s for cardboards so it doesn’t stink.
But I would’ve braved through the smelliest thing for this, for Ava.
Well, maybe I’m doing this for myself, too—but I only want to do it because I fucking love Ava so much, and I can’t stand the idea of some asshole just walking away $10,000 richer after treating her like shit.
That douchebag should be walking out the back door of the seedy strip club soon. His smoking habit’s not only poisoning his body, but also making him predictable—a terrible thing for an asshole like him, who must have a bunch of people wanting to do what I’m about to do to him.
I zip up my leather jacket and flip the hoodie up, too. This should be enough to hide my identity from him.
It’s not unthinkable that an infamous asshole like him would have enemies. Maybe he bumped into some tough guy inside the club, or maybe he looked at some other guy wrong. There are many unfortunate things that can befall a lone creep at a strip club.
Besides, does he really want to draw more attention to himself, now that he’s the joke of the town?
Yesterday, I overheard a group of teenagers walking past and saying, “Move on, man. You’re making me worried you’re going to pull a Joseph.” I grinned as the other kid said, simply, “Ew.”
A beating may gain Joseph some sympathy, but not when he’s behind a seedy strip joint. He probably doesn’t want that in the papers, too.
The twins’ plan was simple and elegant. And it worked like a charm.
It’s not good enough for me, though. I don’t care about effectiveness or elegance. All I know is my fist itches, and there’s only one face in the world that’ll successfully scratch it: Joseph’s.
So this is a matter between my fist and his face. That’s why none of my brothers or Ava know about it. I don’t need them trying to stop me.
I jump up, my muscles uncoiling, as the backdoor of the strip joint creaks open. It’s as rusty as the dumpster and probably just as gross.
Joseph may be making decent money as a lawyer, but he can’t go to a classier joint because there's none in these parts.
I bet he’s dying to leave town, especially now that everybody knows what he’s done. Maybe he thinks he can start over somewhere new.
But there’s no escape for him because who’s going to hire the psycho? What law firm isn’t going to worry he’ll sue them over something insane, too?
Joseph can try to change his name, of course. It would be a huge hassle, and it still may not fix his problems.