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)
Hugo?
He absolutely confuses me because I thought he was better than his son. I waffle back and forth between being angry with him and being hurt by him.
Last night, in my room, Hugo came onto me. He kissed me. He led me on. I was justified in thinking we were doing this “thing”—whatever this thing was—together. He’d let me blow him. I’d seen the unmasked pleasure written all over his face. For a second, it felt great to be the reason for that look.
It was gone in a flash because right after, he was gone, telling me it couldn’t ever happen again.
I was sure he’d break—that he’d bring it up this morning on the way to work, but I was wrong. He kept the conversation light, babbling on about the campaign like I didn’t just have his dick in my mouth the night before.
The sickness roiling in my gut only worsens as the day goes on. How can he pretend like nothing happened? I certainly can’t turn it off, smiling at everyone I pass by. In fact, I feel perilously close to breaking. I’m fragile, brittle, and fractured.
I’m everything Dad said I was.
A woman who shamelessly uses her body to get a momentary high of attention regardless of the catastrophic consequences. The men take what they want because I allow it and then go about their merry little way. I’m not worth real love and commitment, that much is apparent. Every time I get myself in one of these situations, I’m left hollow and alone after. While it feels good in the moment, it feels awful once the moment has passed.
My stomach grumbles, signaling lunchtime. I glance up at the clock to confirm that Hugo has managed to avoid me successfully all morning.
What am I even doing here?
There’s no alternative, though. I can’t go back home to Dad. Mom certainly isn’t showing her face. I’m eighteen, so I should just find my own place, but something tells me this black cloud I carry over me will follow me there too.
The clack of heels on hard floors draws my attention from the clock to the front door. Relief floods through me at seeing Tasha. Her smile is all for me as she saunters my way. Knowing someone actually cares about me and doesn’t see me as some seductress is refreshing.
“Auntie Tasha!” I exclaim, grinning. “What are you doing here? How did you know I was here?”
Karla shoots me a dirty look, making sure to point in exaggeration at her phone. I refrain from giving her the middle finger and rush over to Tasha.
“I’m taking you to lunch,” Tasha reveals. “We have so much to catch up on.”
Of course Hugo decides to take that moment to open his office door. His eyes linger on me long enough to make my heart flutter before cutting them over to Tasha. He frowns, marring his handsome face.
“Tasha,” Hugo greets, forcing a smile. “What a surprise.”
Her genuine smile falls and she glares icily at him. “Is it? How’s your wife?”
The flinch is slight, but I see it. As frustrated as I am with him at the moment, I don’t want her to start dissecting his personal life in front of Karla and the entire office. Quickly, I scoop up my purse and stride over to her.
“We’re grabbing lunch. That okay?” I meet his gaze briefly before stealing a glance at his lips that were parted so beautifully just last night as I sucked his cock.
He clears his throat and nods. “Take as long as you want.”
Tasha barely holds back a sneer but doesn’t say anything. I nod, offering him a grateful smile, and then loop an arm with Tasha’s. I’m able to get her out of the office without her running her fingernails down the side of his face.
Her pearly white Maserati’s engine purrs to life as she hits the fob. Tasha has long legs and practically sprints despite her sky-high heels. It’s not until we’re inside her car that smells of her familiar perfume that she finally explodes.
“I know he’s your stepdaddy, but I hate him!” She beats a fist against her steering wheel. “He’s a snake. I can feel it. Whatever is going on with your mother, he’s behind it. Mark my words.”
“He’s not a snake.”
She huffs and shakes her head, making her earrings jingle. “You always were blind to the toxicity of that family. Your mother knew. Vented to me about it often, too.”
The car grows silent. Eventually, she sniffs and waves off the awkwardness with a manicured hand.
“Let’s have lunch at the country club today. I hear they have a new chef all the way from New York. My friend Marianna says the sea bass is to die for.”
We chat about safe topics like Hugo’s campaign and my new job. Eventually, once we’re at the country club and seated in a quaint corner, Tasha drops the niceties.