My gaze pulls to where my sister sits. There is an odd look in her eyes.
One that says, although she is smiling, she’s anything but happy. I know her too well. I know she is pretending—putting on a good show, the actress she is—but her eyes are slightly narrowed, meaning she did not expect this, and she is about to snap.
I move closer to Erin, ready to calm her when she grabs my arm forcibly. Instead, her sharp nails grasp my skin. “What did you do?” she hisses, and here it comes.
I have become accustomed to her accusations.
What’ll it be this time? Cheating? Blackmail? Sex? I don’t know, but I do know my sister’s flair for the dramatic will rear its ugly head. When she’s hurting, she doesn’t know how to do anything but transmit it to others. Something I’m not looking forward to at all.
“I knew you were a slut. I should have dropped you off at Social Services.”
These are the words of someone lost. Someone beat down by the world and lashing out. I know this; it hurts. I clench every muscle inside me, forcing myself to exhale. I will not let her words hurt me. It’s time to stop letting her get to me. I tolerate her because of the past. What she did for me. Not just in raising me, but in truth, she saved me, but at some point, enough is enough. There is a line, and right now, she just crossed it.
I will deal with this later because Erin is the least of my problems right now. After the bomb that just went off in this office, I have bigger problems to deal with.
Namely, the blue-eyed stranger whose glower sends a chill running up my spine.
Pure venom.
He hates me.
It’s a weird feeling to see such hatred in someone’s eyes, especially when they don’t even know you.
I haven’t felt this way in a long time. Not since my life became more stable. He stares at me, and I refuse to break the contact. I won’t cower.
No matter how I feel at this moment, I won’t allow this man to see my feelings.
Sure, I’m shocked by what I just learned, but instead of showing it, I take my hands and dig my nails into my thighs to regulate myself.
Slowly, I take a deep inhale and pull my eyes away from him to look back at the lawyer, whose name I cannot wait to forget.
“What does this mean?” I ask.
“We still have a lot to discuss in regard to all of this. There were stipulations put in place before he died.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Trent barks. He’s not even trying to be civil.
If he could burn this place to the ground, I think he would.
“There’s a lot to go over.”
“Then you better get started because some of us have places to go. Like work. We are not all gold diggers.” He stands and begins to pace.
I shake my head and do my best not to pay attention. He has no idea who I am. He’s grasping at straws to intimidate me. Nothing this prick says is going to make me question who I am.
You can bring it, Trent, but I know who I am.
His eyes narrow on me as if he can hear my thoughts. A lump forms in my throat. My mouth dries, butterflies ping-ponging around in my stomach in full force. He leans against the wall, kicks one foot over the other, and stares me down as if he knows exactly what kind of effect he’s having on me.
I feel like I’ve just lost a game before it’s begun.
Congrats, Payton. You may know who you are, but your body needs a memo, a postcard, and a freaking billboard to learn it can’t react to him like this.
Mr. Baker slides the letter back into his folder, though it looks way longer than what he read. He must’ve memorized it. “Normally, we would have a lot of paperwork to do over this with the estate tax and death tax, etc., but this is different. The money has always been in Payton’s name. Ronald started this account years ago. It’s been accruing money and interest over the years.”
“What are you talking about?”
Finally, something comes out of my mouth. It flies out. Trent, whose eyes have never left mine, studies me harder. I refuse to wilt under the intensity of his gaze. I tip my chin up, hoping my message is delivered.
You don’t intimidate me.
He does.
You may hate me, but I’ve done nothing wrong. Not knowingly.
Doesn’t seem to matter.
Neither of us has a clue what’s going on.
Three seconds pass. I avert my eyes, redirecting them to Mr. Baker, whose only ability to elicit reactions from me comes from the will he just put away. How is it possible that all the money has been in my name this entire time? It makes no sense. Is that why my bills are always paid? Because technically, it has always been my money?