Something else that my stepmother hated.
She was disgusted by my choice in ‘working profession’ and never let me hear the end of it that a Deveraux didn’t work.
Or whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean.
Dad worked.
He worked a lot, too.
Yet, my stepmother had stopped controlling my father the moment that he’d felt like breaking away. Which he’d done pretty early in their marriage.
“Well maybe you should tell your fucking wife to stop taking money out of my account when she needs some for her or her kids,” I suggested. “I can’t even pay bills out of that account, Dad. I had to open a new one, and get a part-time job, to make sure that I had enough money in my account to pay for my electricity bill. Even though, I’d like to point out, that the money that she’s taking out of my account is mine.”
My dad sighed. “I’ll talk to her.”
He would, but she wouldn’t stop.
Eight years ago, my grandmother had died, and my grandfather had decided to divide their money up before his death. I’d been left with a sizable trust. That trust dumped into the account that my stepmother always stole from. At one point in time, I’d made a big deal of it. I’d screamed, cursed, and threw a fit.
Yet, nothing had changed.
When I’d gone to a lawyer to see what I could do, they’d frustratingly informed me that there wasn’t anything that could be done because the Deverauxs owned every fuckin’ thing. Literally everything.
Every lawyer I went to had somehow worked with the Deveraux family before, making it a conflict to work with me.
People I asked to help said they couldn’t burn a Deveraux bridge.
So… that left me with nothing.
Which was when I’d decided enough was enough, and had moved out of Louisiana. I’d found a new home in Florida, and I’d started working as a vet tech part time to help pay the bills. Something in which my stepmother hated, but no longer had any control of.
“You could try,” I said. “But it won’t change anything.”
He knew I was right, and didn’t say anything.
“I’ll fix it,” he promised.
He would try. Just like he’d been ‘trying’ for a while.
But since my dad was married to my stepmother—and wouldn’t divorce—that was it. There would be no fixing it if it messed up their marriage.
According to him, he couldn’t fuck up a second time. Their marriage contract, and their prenuptial agreement, wouldn’t allow him to.
Leaving me with very little to do to fix what was broken.
And my father with one of his hands tied behind his back
It was bad enough that he still had contact with me.
If it was my stepmother’s choice, I would be a forgotten grain of sand on the bottom of her shoe.
“I have to go,” I finally said instead of anything that I wanted to say. “Don’t worry about my bills, though. I have those covered.”
More than covered.
I was officially done with school as we spoke.
And, if our luck hung true, we had the “building a vet practice” thing figured out, too.
Which was why I was at a diner—Moe’s—waiting for my best friend, Diana, to figure out what miracle she’d performed to make it happen.
Speaking of best friend, she whipped off her apron, hung it up behind the counter, and made her way to me where I sat in a bigger booth than usual.
When I’d gotten here, she’d pointed at one that could fit someone twice our size. She’d explained that we were meeting with someone.
I just didn’t know who.
“Hey,” she slid into the booth across from me. “Bain is on his way… and Bain’s friend. We’re going to discuss the building.”
I frowned. “What?”
“His friend is an architect and builder. Though, he usually does more high-scale, commercial things. He agreed to talk to us before he heads back to Louisiana.”
I frowned. “Louisiana?”
“Louisiana,” she confirmed.
Before I could say anything more, the dangly bells on the side of the front door jingled, and I turned to watch two very large men making their way into the diner.
One, a tall tatted one, was Bain, Diana’s new beau.
The other was a very familiar one. One with dark, glossy brown hair, penetrating blue eyes, and a goddamn cat in his hands.
A hairless one that I’d seen when I’d been driving down the highway to home.
The hairless cat was a sphynx. A bright, green-eyed one that looked so regal and cute.
The cat’s owner, however, he looked… different.
So different than when I’d last seen him.
This time, his black t-shirt fit him well. It was snug, but not overly so, silently proclaiming the shirt hastily put on.
His jeans were dark washed and fit a whole lot better, too. But they still looked worn and used, well loved.
He had on the same black motorcycle boots, though.
Along with a ball cap that covered up most of that brown hair, pulled down low, concealing his eyes.