Page 32 of Crushing Clover
Warren wasn’t home.
Small mercies, and all that.
I left the envelope of money on his desk and wrote my name on it so he’d know it was from me. So much money passed through this office that leaving it unmarked wasn’t an option.
Four more payments and we’d be free.
Free of my father.
Free of the girl.
I climbed the stairs to my old room for the first time in a few years and was unsurprised to find it completely changed. In place of my tasteful bedroom furniture and school awards, there was a guest bed and dresser, as well as vague modern art that didn’t make me feel anything.
Lucky’s parents hadn’t touched his room after he moved out. There were probably still a few old joints hidden in the space under his bottom dresser drawer. The old posters were still on the wall.
Here, I’d been erased the moment I’d walked out.
It wasn’t a surprise, but it still made me jealous of the family Lucky had.
They were my family now too, sort of, but even the most affectionate in-laws couldn’t erase the feeling of not having your own people.
My father wasn’t family; he didn’t have tender feelings for anyone, let alone for me.
Fucking sociopath.
“Can I help you, Mister Saint John?” Mr. Fisk asked, appearing behind me. His tone was formal, but there was a bit of warmth there, hidden underneath. He’d always been kind to me when my father wasn’t around to notice.
“Just wanted to see my old room.”
“I think Mrs. Alcorn hid a few boxes of your things in the basement, if you’re looking for something.
She tried to convince your father not to convert your room, but he needed the space.
” It was a diplomatic answer, considering I knew Mr. Fisk couldn’t stand Warren any more than I did. He was paid too well to quit.
“I know. He needed it for guests,” I said with a curt nod.
There were eight other guest bedrooms, and he had no actual friends, but sure.
I left, wondering if Warren had fucked Clover in my old room before giving her to me.
She was a pain in the ass, but she was beautiful. Feisty without being annoying or a bitch. It would be so much easier if she wasn’t walking around wearing our ex’s face. Then again, if she hadn’t looked like Arabella, Warren never would have dropped her—literally—in my lap.
As I got behind the wheel of my truck, sunlight dappled the windshield, leaving spots on the dash that reminded me of her freckles.
The little shit was probably getting into mischief right this minute.
For old-time’s sake, I peeled out of the driveway like an angry teenager. I was eager to get home and take out my irritation on Clover’s hot little ass.