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“Fucking asshole. Are you going to tell me that you are a psychiatrist as well?”
I yanked my hands, trying to get free, but Mark held firm.
He growled, low in his throat. “Shit, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” His long-tapered fingers brushed the tears I hadn’t known were falling from my cheeks.
“They are all I have.” I didn’t even know that I was going to answer until the words were out of my mouth. But as I spoke them, I knew that I believed them. “Otterville Falls might look like shit to you, but it is my home, and these people are my family. So, you can take your inheritance and your opinions and shove it up your ass!”
A pounding at the door caused Mark to release me. Wiping my tears away, I opened the door to see Martha and Earl standing there.
“We’ve just come from the church,” Earl said almost apologetically.
“What is your point?” I snapped, immediately feeling bad until Martha spoke.
“The good Lord doesn’t want whores in his chapel,” Martha said darkly.
And something snapped inside of me. “The good Lord welcomed everyone into his fold. The whores, the sinners, the sick and infirm. You are sadly misinformed, Martha! Fuck, they let you go in and you are the most judgmental person I have ever met!”
Martha had never heard me talk back. Her mouth opened, jaw dropping.
A massive smile broke out across Earl’s face. “Well, it’s about time. Well said, Sutton.”
I whipped my head around to see Mark had followed. “I don’t want to see you any longer. I will sign whatever I need to and take the lesser inheritance.”
Mark eyed me for a moment before answering, “No.”
“No?” I repeated dumbly.
“No,” he confirmed. “You are coming to the city. You have hidden yourself away here for far too long.”
“I am obviously not up to your standard,” I quipped.
Mark shook his head. “No, they aren’t up to yours. Being poor isn’t a crime, Sutton. But being cruel, that should be.”
Then, to my surprise, he closed to door on Martha and Earl’s surprised faces.
Chapter Nine
Sutton
I knew I looked like a kid at the candy store, but I couldn’t help myself. Obviously, I had never flown on a private jet before, because I had never flown before this day—private or otherwise.
Mark and I were having a small disagreement. When I started to lug my old duffel bag out of the closet to pack, he promptly told me to put it away. ‘We won’t be needing any of your… clothes.’ It was the way he said it that really pissed me off. He might as well have blurted out that we weren’t taking the garbage with us. I couldn’t even accuse him of being pervy or anything because his nose was clearly out of joint as he looked down at me.
Just when I was starting to think that maybe Mark was actually a nice guy underneath the prick demeanor that usually rears its head, he goes ahead and makes a comment like this.
He is back to dickhead status in my books.
“Sutton, could you stop tapping your fingernails?” he asked impatiently.
I followed his glare down to where my chipped cherry polish was indeed clacking against the armrest.
Make that dickhead ass-muncher.
“Miss Landry, would you like some champagne?”
I looked up to see the pretty stewardess offering me some champagne.
“Not now, Amanda,” Mark answered, shooing her away.