“How would you know? You made your first billion the moment you took your first breath.”
“I’m not completely detached from reality. I understand the value of money.”
“Knowing how to spend it isn’t the same thing as valuing it.”
My teeth grind together. “Valuing your money means knowingwhereto spend it, not how.”
“Look at you being all wise.”
“I’m more than just a pretty face, Lana. I have a brain too.”
“Who lied to you and called you pretty?” She bats her lashes.
“You did…while I was between your legs with my tongue deep inside your needy cunt.”
Take that, you little witch.
She chokes on her breath. “God.”
“Please, no need to call me God outside of the bedroom. It gives me a complex.”
She swipes the swear jar off the top of the fridge and slams it on the table in front of me. “Pay up.”
I grab a hundred dollars and drop it in the jar. “Worth every penny.”
“Cami’s college fund appreciates the donation.”
I clasp onto her wrist, and the warmth of her skin bleeds into mine. “You wouldn’t need a swear jar anymore if you agree to sell the house.”
She stares off into the distance.
I can practically taste victory, so I pull out my wild card. “You could open that bakery you’ve always dreamed about.”
She releases a shuddery breath as she looks away, and I think for the first time since I came to Lake Wisteria, I’m finally winning.
Only because you’re using her dreams against her.
Is that what I’m doing? Or am I simply reminding her what she must have forgotten over the years?
She shakes her head, her vision turning clearer as she comes back to reality. “No. I’d rather play it safe and save the money for a house and whatever Cami might need over the years.”
“Play it safe? What happened to the girl who would act first and think later?”
“I grew up, Cal.” She grabs the swear jar and places it back on top of the fridge.
“So what? Growing up doesn’t mean giving up on all your dreams.”
“I didn’t give up. I just realized I’d rather make someone else’s dreams come true a lot more than my own.”
“What does that even mean?”
She pulls her stack of papers into her arms and retrieves her red pen. “I don’t expect someone like you to understand.”
My heart threatens to shrivel up. “Someone like me?”
“Someone who always chooses himself.”
As if her words didn’t do enough damage, the look on her face lands a killer blow.