Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“I’m so glad you’re back here, honey, but why? Your mother said you and Spencer had a falling-out years ago that was irreparable. Why come back and live with that bratty child?”
I let out a heavy sigh. With Tasha, there really is no avoiding the topics she wants to discuss. She’ll circle back relentlessly like a hawk with her eyes on prey. May as well make it easy for her.
“Dad kicked me out.” I cringe at our last words together that involved a lot of screaming on his part and crying on my part. “I screwed up. Nowhere else to go but back here.”
“Why on earth would he kick out my perfect girl?” she asks, lips puckering into a pout. “Tony always was a hothead with no sense. I’ll never understand your mother’s choice in men.”
I understand why she fell for Hugo…
“I slept with his boss,” I blurt out. “Not so perfect.”
I have to bite down on my bottom lip hard to keep the tears at bay. My choices are always the wrong ones and they will continue to haunt me until the day I die. Reliving my fight with Dad only worsens how I feel since I’m up to my same shenanigans with the Park men. It’s me. It’s obviously always me who’s the problem.
“You’re perfect to me,” Tasha says, giving me a kind smile. “Was he at least handsome?”
A laugh bubbles out of me, crazed and girly. “No! I mean, sort of. I think I just liked the attention he gave me. It was stupid.”
“If I had a dollar for every time I made a stupid mistake, I’d be ten times richer than I am now,” she sasses, arching a sculpted brow at me. “It’s life, sweetie. It’s what shapes us to be better people.”
Behind Tasha’s fillers and cosmetic surgery to preserve her youth is a woman I’ve always loved and looked up to. She was the fun aunt I never had. The one who treated me like kin, always available to take me out for a little retail therapy. Whenever Mom was cold to me, I used to pretend Tasha was my mother instead.
“I feel like a home-wrecking whore,” I admit, stomach churning with guilt and self-loathing. “I know better and yet…”
She reaches across the table to pat my hand. “Don’t take all the shame on yourself. That man was there too. And, I’m guessing he was older, which means he should have had the sense not to pursue you. I’m not saying you’re blameless in the situation. But I also want you to know he’s every bit as guilty of what went down. Did Tony lay into him too?”
“He still works there, so I doubt it.” I shrug my shoulders. “Anyway, I packed up and came back here.”
Thankfully, by the time our food arrives, we’ve moved on to her trip to Switzerland she’s going on this winter. It takes the spotlight off myself and allows me to just listen to her. My mind travels, though. Not to Switzerland, but to Mom. I’d told Tasha there was nothing to worry over regarding Mom.
I sincerely hope that’s the truth.
I’m finding it far too easy to slip into her place beside Hugo. It’s sick that I secretly wish she’d stay away. Because if she showed up today and saw how I behaved with both Hugo and Spencer, my other parent would disown me too.
And that’s enough to make me want to puke up sea bass.
Somehow, I made it through lunch and Tasha’s interrogation. Then, after, I managed to avoid Hugo as well. Karla seemed to enjoy punishing me with grunt work. Little did she know, I was completely fine with burying my face in digging through files all day. When five o’clock hit, I bailed, jumping into my waiting Uber because I was not looking forward to awkwardness with Hugo, or worse yet, questioning as to what me and Tasha spoke about.
I’m distracted as I hop out of the Uber once home, head down, that I don’t notice anything’s amiss until the wind blows a photograph against my thigh. Confusion washes over me as I try to make sense of the picture.
It’s me.
Naked.
Lips around a dick.
Oh my God.
Did Ben take this pic? Or Wes? I’m staring at it in horror, plucking it from my thigh, and dying a little inside when a fluttering sound pulls me from my shock.
There are more pictures.
Hundreds of them all scattered across Hugo’s front lawn.
No!
I shriek, dropping my purse to the ground, and begin frantically snatching up picture after picture. The wind blows, making them fly in a thousand different directions just like my panicked thoughts.
Who would do this?
Why would they do this?
I’m crawling on my hands and knees, ruining my new slacks with grass stains, as I attempt to grab all the pictures I can when I hear a voice.