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 still, to this day, can’t understand why he despises her.
“Spencer’s name isn’t on the deed,” I say, smirking at her. “You know you’re always welcome. Your room is still there as it was.”
I certainly don’t tell her that her mother was adamant about turning it into a personal yoga studio. So adamant, it took me changing the lock on the door and hiding the key so she wouldn’t do it one day while I was at work. Naturally, I’m not about to tell Aubrey her mother was all too eager to wipe her existence from the house.
“Is everything okay?” I ask slowly, knowing we can only dance around the reason she’s here for so long. “You’re a long way from LA.”
Her lips press together and her head bows as she looks down at her hands on her thighs. Long, sunny-blond, beach-wavy hair tickles over the ink. I have the urge to push it away so I can inspect the ink more closely without her hair in the way.
“Where’s Mom?”
My blood runs cold. “That’s a good question.”
“You don’t know?” Her head jerks up and she bores her stare into me. “How can you not know?”
That’s a loaded question. Does Aubrey have all afternoon to listen to me count the ways her mother is a puppet master in this town mindfucking everyone—especially me?
“Your mother,” I say, carefully choosing my words, “can be cold sometimes.”
She nods. “Tell me about it.”
Two years ago, rather than being the mother Aubrey needed, Neena turned her back on her. Told her to grow up or go live with her dad. Even I wasn’t able to smooth things over between them. I’m not sure exactly what caused the big blowup, but I do know my son didn’t help matters by being an antagonistic prick.
“How long has she been gone?” Aubrey asks. “Are you two separated?”
I rub at my temple with my index finger, wondering the best way to navigate this answer. “Months. About eight or nine maybe? I don’t know, but it feels like forever.”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “That’s about how long it’s been since I’ve spoken to her.”
“I’m assuming we’re separated, but you know how your mother is. She’ll show up one day acting as if nothing happened just to fuck with me.”
I cringe at my oversharing. I’ve always been able to say the right things in life, avoiding pure honesty for the sake of my image and career. Somehow, though, Aubrey has thrown me off my game.
“So you two were on the outs?” Her body turns toward me more and she pulls on her knee, tucking her leg beneath her on the chair.
I note that her tattoo is swirling ocean waves, designed so intricately in different shades of blue that it almost seems as though it’s actually moving. It’s mesmerizing and distracting. The urge to cover it up with my large palm thrums through me like electricity. Instead, I fist my hand, keeping it firmly planted in my lap.
“We’ve been on the outs for years,” I admit with a resigned sigh. “She usually makes an effort, though, for the public. Now, she has us covering for her. With my campaign—”
“Campaign?”
“I’m running for attorney general. The competition is weak, so I’ll likely win, but her timing of this stunt won’t make things easy on me.”
She studies my face for a long beat, glances at my mouth, and then darts her eyes back to her tattoo. “What if…What if something happened to her, Hugo?” Her voice trembles and her next words barely rasp out. “What if she’s dead?”
It’d be so much easier on us all if that were the case. Being a widower would ensure my win, no doubt. Furthermore, the stress and anxiety Neena causes me on a daily basis would disappear completely. As far as the feeling of abandonment that Aubrey certainly deals with, would also be explained away. Her mother could be remembered as just that, her mom. Not someone who doesn’t give two shits about her.
“She’s not dead,” I assure her.
“How do you know?”
“I’m tracking her purchases and phone activity whenever she decides to turn it on.”
“Someone could have her card,” she croaks out.
Only Neena makes weekly trips to Michael Kors or Kate Spade for new handbags and accessories. Only Neena eats at Wild Eats several times a month. Only Neena buys hair products on the regular at the high-end salons around town.
“She has her card.” I scrub my palm over my face. “Her card activity is the same as it always is. If anything, she’s spending more.” I pause to frown. “Enough for two people.”
“Have you tried her car?” Aubrey offers. “It’s high tech. Don’t you have access to the app?”
“It’s in the garage, untouched.”
“Why is she doing this?” she asks. “Making us all worry?”
Because your mother is a bitch of epic proportions when she wants to be.