Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 79183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I don’t even realize Mr. McCree is off the phone until he clears his throat and says, “Ambrose, meet Mary-Belle, or Belle for short.”
Ambrose’s eyes narrow as he licks his full lips and leans against the counter. “Well, that’s just perfect, isn’t it?”
Oh okay, so he is an asshole.
Good to know.
His dad points his cell at Ambrose. “No attitude.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I thought that at least in my own home, I didn’t have to worry about cameras.” He shoves away from the white countertop and makes his way toward me. “Better strap in, Belle, because as of right now, you’re not allowed to have feelings out in public and apparently not even in here.”
“Ambrose!” He gets close to him. A muscle ticks in Ambrose’s sculpted jaw. “I’ll tell you what,” Mr. McCree’s smile is conniving as he crosses his arms. “I’ll let you drive her to school in the Aston Martin—in fact, consider it yours.”
“Drive her to school,” he repeats. “To my school?”
“Yeah.” His dad grins. “Who else is gonna show her the ropes? Your mom’s on the phone enrolling her as we speak, which reminds me, the house is big, she needs a tour.”
I open my mouth to say no when Ambrose holds out his hand to me and winks. “How’s it feel to know you’re worth a three hundred and fifty thousand dollar car?”
My cheeks heat.
I don’t reach for his hand, but I do stand. Shame fills me as I reach for my black trash bag, and my hands squeeze tight around it. I don’t need to look down to know that I only have a few personal things in the bag, including one pair of brand-new white converse that my old guardian had just gotten me.
We were supposed to go shopping the day she died in the car crash, but when I first came to her house, she had a cute sundress and shoes waiting for me as a surprise.
I didn’t mean to, but I burst into tears which then encouraged her that we needed a shopping spree right away.
And just like that, one of my shields sort of dropped, only to come straight back up again as Ambrose stared me down.
“Come on.” Ambrose jerks the bag out of my hand and starts stomping away.
I have no choice but to follow him down the ginormous hallways of the first floor. It’s like something a celebrity would live in. I don’t even want to know how much this place costs, but I’m beginning to wonder if it’s more than even an A-list actor could afford.
Elon Musk? Of course.
Tom Hanks? Maybe not so much.
Ambrose charges ahead of me and starts pointing his free hand from left to right. “Guest rooms, primary suites, game room, theater room.” He moves swiftly up the stairs, my bag swinging next to his thick legs.
He’s clearly an athlete.
“Bathroom, second bathroom…” He stops at the top of the stairs, and I nearly ram into him. “There’s ten, just in case you get bored. Oh, and they’re themed because why not? Mom gets bored.” He smirks and then keeps walking. “My room is on the second floor with another theater room.” He turns a hard right. “Work out room is in the basement, which, since I see absolutely zero muscle on your scrawny body, I’m assuming you don’t care to see.” Another evil smirk. “My parents’ primary suite is the entire third floor, definitely don’t go up there unless you want to be scarred for life.” He shudders. “Pool house and guest house are outside, there’s an indoor sauna near the workout room, and an outdoor bar along with an indoor one on every single floor, if you want to raid it, it’s not locked, my dad fully believes in the whole drinking at home if you’re going to drink which I actually stand by since the last thing I need is to get caught partying and get kicked off the team.” He sighs and shoves a hand in his pocket. “The drugs are, however, under lock and key, especially the mushrooms.”
I let out a shocked gasp.
He bursts out laughing. “That was almost too easy. Do you really think my dad would do drugs, let alone have them in the house? Though I do hear microdosing is huge now.” He keeps walking. “My room’s to the left, more guest rooms down the hall, and…” He pulls out his phone and fires off a text.
I wait, feeling awkward as I stare at myself in one of the large mirrors in the hall next to some weird-looking statue that I’m sure cost more than my entire life.
“Fuck.” Ambrose puts his phone back in his pocket. “And apparently, because my dad enjoys torturing me, your room is right over here, across the hall.”
“Should we draw a line in chalk or something?” I joke.