Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 151430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
“You got my gift, didn’t you? I take it that’s why you’re here ruining my evening?”
Straight to the point and nasty as ever.
My hand balls into a fist. “You’re a sick son of a bitch. I can’t believe you sent those letters to the Art Institute. Private letters between your loving parents. The letter about Grandma’s miscarriage...Dad, you fucker. I didn’t even know about that.”
I have to pause and breathe. Otherwise, I’m going to hoist him up and slam him right through the wall.
“It’s history, Ward, and Mother’s a famous artist. People eat this crap up. Don’t you think they’d gush sympathy all over her if they knew?” He actually shakes his head like he tried to do her a favor. “I know you’re used to jumping to conclusions, but—”
“Shut it. If she doesn’t talk about it, she doesn’t want all of Chicago blabbing either. Private letters to Grandpa about needing him to submit her work, so she could be paid because people wouldn’t hire a woman in those days. She didn’t want anyone reading that shit, and you know it.” I rake a hand down my face. “What’s your malfunction? Why are you so...you? Your own mother’s recovering from a serious heart defect, and you just had to go shit on everyone.”
“I shit just fine, boy. You want to know? Really?” he snaps. “Here’s my biggest worry—the bitch dies before she puts me back in the will. You don’t know what it’s like to grow up a Brandt and then be disowned.”
“She didn’t disown you—you did that to yourself!” I roar, lurching toward him. “I assume the letters were to embarrass Grandma. I’m just not sure how that helps you get back in her will. Why would she want to leave you money for hurting her again?”
The turd I’m ashamed to share DNA with doesn’t answer.
He never does when hard questions slug him in the face.
“Why the boat, you ass? Are you suicidal?” I’m shaking as the rancor pours out of me like pus. “You realize there’s no statute of limitations on murder—”
“I didn’t kill that prick! It was an accident. We talked business. We partied too hard. Then there was a freak storm on the lake, and...tragedy.”
He’s rattled, but I can’t take any pleasure in it.
“They’ll haul your ass into court if they ever find evidence. It’s in your best interest and everyone else’s that the Parnell crap stays forgotten. It’s not the time for you to be dragging this shit out. We’re in the middle of closing a massive deal with Ross Winthrope. Would you really deny your parents their lifelong dream?”
For a second, he looks almost human. Then the illusion disappears in a grin with teeth too sharp.
“Fuck her and her shitty hotel! She disowned her only child—all over that dumbass and the stupid boat. Let the world beat off over it until the sun goes out. I don’t have anything to hide.”
“She disowned you because you killed a man. Not because her boat sank.”
“Ward, I didn’t kill that jackass. I just sank the yacht.”
“With him on it. Unconscious. Did he still have a pulse, or were you too high off your ass to check?”
He shrugs coldly. “Your mom and I had to jump off when we did. Anything else, that was his fault. He was younger and in better shape than us. We thought he could make it. God, after he talked up that stupid deal, we thought...never mind.”
How is this piece of shit my father?
I’m glad Maria changed her mind, and my relationship with Paige is fake. No one else should be subjected to this clown show of a family.
It almost makes me sick to imagine continuing this psycho’s bloodline.
“Whatever. Just name a price to get you out of our lives before you give Grandma another heart attack.”
“I don’t care. If she wants me to give two shits about her dream of designing a hotel, maybe she should consider me for once.”
I sigh. “Joke’s on you. I have the trash you sent to the museum.”
He glares at me, his eyes going watery with rage.
“So you came to gloat, then? That’s just fine. I have plenty of other options if the museum doesn’t want to play ball. I’ve never had a hard time getting press, and I’m good at kicking up dust. I know low people in high places.”
Enough!
My hand flies up and snags the bastard’s neck in a chokehold. I slam him into the wall hard enough to shake the whole room.
“Last warning. Stay the fuck away from my family. Leave us alone.”
I storm out the door while he’s still coughing, slamming it so hard it bounces open again.
I’m downstairs and back in my car before I realize I didn’t do the one thing I came here to do.
I grin. That piece of shit didn’t get the one thing he wanted.