Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
It wasn’t that I didn’t understand where the townsfolk were coming from. It was that I: (A) thought the pros outweighed the cons in opening up the town, and (B) didn’t give a shit either way. I had come here for vengeance and gotten it. It was time to move on.
Letting out a provocative yawn, I explained, “Folks, I do apologize, but I don’t have time for songs and dances. If you’ve got a specific question, I’ll answer it. I’ve read the plan, studied the blueprints, and know the vision for the hotel and mall they’re planning here. Otherwise, let me go back to the only business in Staindrop that’s currently not losing money.” I spun the ring on my pinky finger. “And while I’ve got your attention—I would refrain from pranking my ass with roadkill and hate mail. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t play so well with others, and when I hit back, it’s much, much harder.”
Randy snorted from the end of the room. “Not as hard as the punch I’ve got saved for you, boy.”
My eyes slowly lifted to his. “I smell a fucking challenge, Randy. Let’s go outside and test it out.”
“No!” Allison yelped. “Stop this nonsense. No one is punching anyone. I don’t need this headline attached to my name.”
The town hall meeting lasted for another forty minutes, in which I got grilled about the details in my as-yet-unsigned contract with GS Properties. I answered questions honestly and to the point, reminding people every now and then that I was volunteering information they had no business asking me for.
By the time the meeting was over, so was my will to live. I had a migraine that threatened to split my head in half and was in no mood to return to Descartes. I waited for the room to empty and helped Robbie with his laptop while people filed out. Mom, Dylan, Cal, and Fuckface loitered near the stage, with the latter helping stack chairs into a tall pile, one on top of the other.
“Man, that was brutal.” Captain Obvious, aka Kieran, wiped invisible sweat from his forehead after pushing a stack of chairs to the far corner of the room. “You okay, bro?”
“Not your bro.” I hopped off the stage. “And not your business. Dylan.” I spun on my heel, facing my sister. “You shouldn’t be on your feet. Let’s go.”
“Is it just me, or does Allison have more plastic on her face than The Container Store?” Dylan chatted happily, ignoring the tension hanging thickly in the air as she rubbed the small of her back. “Did she have a mini facelift? And like, why? She’s younger than some of the cans Mom has in the pantry.”
“Honey, you handled it so well.” Mom laced her arm through mine, smiling sympathetically.
I peered at Cal, but she seemed busy reading something on her phone, determined not to give me the time of day.
Was she pissed about Allison? If so, good.
“He held back on the snark,” Kieran agreed. Why was Fuckface being nice to me? He had nothing to gain from this. Maybe he wasn’t a world-class prick anymore (though I highly doubted it), but there was still no need to suck up to me. Unless he wanted to show Cal he was a good guy. The thought made me want to kill him violently, creatively, and slowly. “He only offended eighty percent of the people in the room, if that.”
“Honestly? Who cares about that train station?” Dylan puffed, rubbing at her belly as she wobbled toward the exit. “Before Row bought it and made it a restaurant, it was straight-up deserted. It smelled of piss, weed, and garbage.”
“People are afraid of change, signorina,” Mom said quietly, a shudder only I noticed moving through her. “That’s why we keep making the same mistakes.”
Only Cal remained curiously silent. Ironically, it was her words I craved more than anyone else’s. I nudged her with my elbow. “Earth to Dot. Now’s your turn to lay into me. Your five minutes start now.”
“Pass.” She took a sip of her coffee. Probably some offensive pumpkin latte bullshit. “What they did to you was brutal, and I believe everyone deserves a bit of grace. Even, and especially, those who don’t give it to others. I will, however, give you a generous piece of my mind tomorrow, when you pick me up for work.” She tried to smile, but I didn’t see any teeth. “That gives me a full twelve minutes, not five.”
“Are you timing our rides together?”
She hitched one dainty shoulder up. “The arctic gusts of wind from your scowls give me chills. Pumpkin spice latte?” She aimed the coffee at me.
“Thanks, I’d rather use Tabasco as eyedrops.”
“Hmm. I’m enjoying that mental image.” She wiped a thin foam mustache off her upper lip, and I wanted to trail the same path with the tip of my tongue before sealing her mouth with mine. “Anyway, I tallied every time you used profanity on my phone.” She raised her ancient iPhone in the air between us. “You should donate a dollar to the local elementary school’s baseball team for every cuss word you used.”