Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 90540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I was in Benji’s camp. I didn’t think the Russian would call. I replayed the light dimming in his eyes and felt a pang. How could I have become so attached to the man in two nights? Especially after what he’d done to me?
I’d cried over that asshole. I hadn’t cried even when I’d ended things with Brett!
“I’ll lay ten large he calls,” Pete said.
Benji answered, “I’ll take that action.”
I yanked open the door, striding into the living room to glare at everyone.
Pete sat in a careworn recliner, practicing cards on a TV tray. Benji was on the lumpy family-size couch with camera parts spread over the coffee table. Mom and Dad sat next to each other on their love seat. She sewed a dress; he worked on his laptop.
Karin had just deposited Cash into his playpen by the couch; he gurgled in welcome. Gram and Russian Al sat at a fold-up bridge table, drinking sherry out of little crystal glasses and playing chess.
Through the sliding glass door, I could see my aunts and uncles out by the pool with all their kids. Though my younger cousins were mini grifters who already cheated at Marco Polo, I would still dominate the water.
After laundry. I cocked the basket higher on my hip. “You guys are betting on me? Like I’m a doped horse?”
Mom set aside her sewing to give me a hug. “Technically, the boys are betting on Dmitri. He’s the doped horse in this scenario.” She’d covered the circles under her stunning chocolate-brown eyes with an expert application of makeup, but I recognized the scent of the brand. Of course she wasn’t sleeping, was too worried about Dad.
“Let’s don’t say Dmitri’s name again, okay?” I muttered, my head hurting me worse than a busted flush.
Benji snorted. “You want us not to talk about the elephant in the room?”
Al piped up. “Very beeg elephant.” He stroked his long gray beard. Maybe he grew it so long to make up for his bald head.
“Victoria, dear,” my grandmother said, “why don’t you explain to us exactly what happened in the club with your rich Russian gentleman?”
Squick. “Uh, another time, Gram.”
Her dark eyes were merry. Sherry always made her merry, and Al was quick on the refills.
After Al’s wife had passed away, my parents had worried he might be lonely, so they’d invited him over for Sunday dinner. Twenty years ago. He’d kept showing up every single Sunday, so eventually we’d adopted him too.
The evidence that Gram and Al were friends with benefits was getting more difficult to ignore.
Mom put her hand on my shoulder and took a deep breath. “Honey, did you truly tell an infatuated billionaire you never wanted to see him again?” She asked this the same way another mother might ask, Honey, do you do the drugs?
“I . . . did.” What was it about him that made me behave so unexpectedly? “But I’m going to rope a Canadian whale tonight. I’m turning this all around.”
Dad closed his laptop, about to weigh in. He would never get mad at me, but I hated disappointing him. Mom rejoined him on the love seat. They were always tied at the hip, best friends as well as partners. Their fake art canvases leaned against every available wall. “Did Sevastyan hurt you, sweet pea?” He narrowed his fierce blue gaze. “I’ll kill him if he so much as—”
“No! He didn’t. He’s not the type.”
“I’ll back her on that,” Pete said. “He might’ve been about to wipe the street with my face, but that guy would never hurt a woman.”
Our two opinions appeased Dad on the matter.
Karin tilted her head at me. “It seemed like Sevastyan scared you.”
Yes! “A little. But it wasn’t him.” I frowned. “It was kind of him.” They were still waiting for an explanation, so I said, “I just don’t like who I am when I’m around him, okay?”
“He’ll call,” Karin said. “Trust me.”
Trust me? Everyone had to chuckle.
With a contemplative expression, Al said, “So now ve vait for call to come.”
“Don’t hold your breath, folks, or you’ll suffocate.” I tossed my messenger bag on the couch, then hauled my basket to the laundry room. Every Sunday I washed clothes here. Every Sunday Mom made sure to leave the washer and dryer stuffed full for me to process.
Once I’d finally gotten my clothes going, I rejoined the group. I leaned over the playpen to give my little guy a mwah! kiss on his head. Cash blinked his big leaf-green eyes and reached for me with chubby hands, which meant I was putty. I lifted him into my arms, then sank onto my favorite spot on the couch.
The love I had in my heart for this little human staggered me. “You’re getting huge! Just between us, you might wanna lay off the beer and hot wings, kiddo.”
Blink, blink, gurgle.
As much as I adored this kid, you’d think I’d want some of my own. I’d been prepared to spawn for Brett, but I hadn’t looked forward to the prospect.
Cash gurgled again, showing off his first tooth. With those eyes and his dark-brown hair, he would grow up to look just like his father.
Fifteen months ago, Karin had accidentally gotten pregnant by a mega-rich CEO. When she’d broken the news, he’d accused her of a paternity play, and walked away. The catch: she’d truly loved him. The one time she hadn’t been conning.
The guy’s last name was Walker.
Fitting.
After her baby was born, Walker had started sending monthly checks without a word. So she’d named the guy’s son Cash. We all thought that was hilarious.
And if a gal couldn’t make a joke when she’d been knocked up and deserted, when could she?
We’d considered sending Walker monthly checks for the sperm. Once we settled the debt and got back on our feet. Speaking of which . . .
I asked Benji, “Is the congressman’s package away?”
“Yep. Right now he’s watching a surprisingly well-shot video and shitting himself.” You have to play to pay.
In our blackmail packages, we demanded total compliance or else we would send the evidence to every major paper in the country (truth). We also warned that if we got any pushback from the blackmailee, Anonymous would add them to their list of high-profile dirt bags to financially destroy (lie).