Page 17 of His Haunted Desire

Well, she’s five foot two, and looked at me like I worked for Goliath, as though my surname has branded me and there’s no coming back from it. I need to let it go. I don’t normally give a fuck about anyone’s opinion, but hers stings for some unknown reason.

“Explain,” I say.

“He’s found two high-class escorts for us to take to the Retreat. He’s briefed them on what we need them to do.”

“And this doesn’t make you suspicious?” I say, perplexed why Sebastian would be so accommodating.

“Why would it?”

“First, he tells me he’s the one who encouraged Grandma to actually take us out of the will. Now this. He wants us to fail.”

“Why would he care?”

“Something about him has always seemed off. Maybe he just wants the sick thrill of seeing our family torn apart. I’m not taking an escort to the island.”

That was exactly what Aurora accused me of trying to make her. My personal escort. But there’s no fun bossing someone around if they don’t throw up a sassy shield in return.

“Okay, Raiden. Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” I grunt.

“Everything will work out. Grandma might just be bluffing anyway.”

“I don’t give a damn about the money.”

He laughs in disbelief. “Everyone cares about money. You know it. I know it. The only difference is, are you willing to admit it?”

He hangs up, leaving me to stew. I wish I could say he was wrong. I wish I could say that being down to my final one hundred thousand–excluding my assets–didn’t leave a sour taste in my mouth.

As the thought hits me, I hear Aurora in my mind.Your last one hundred, EXCLUDING assets… are you kidding me?

At a red light, I close my eyes, and take a breath.

That’s the last time I let a stranger into my thoughts.

CHAPTER 7

AURORA

For two days, I juggle working at the shop and taking care of Grandma. Her physical symptoms are improving, but she’s in a bad mood. She’s normally on the move all day every day, stopping just long enough to have a cup of coffee and then carrying on.

Now, she’s in bed, staring blankly at the TV. She looks like a shadow of the woman she was before I left for the semester. Every so often, my gaze will come to rest on King Douche’s business card.

I remember the way he stood up to those goons in the alleyway. Then he dropped the card on the ground, refusing to look at me, as if he were sulking. It’s as if he thought I should do what he said, when he said it, with no argument.

When he sends a courier to pick up his suit. I tell myself I’m not disappointed; I don’t want to see him again. I’ve got more important things to worry about.

“Shall we watch a movie this evening?” I ask Grandma, sitting on the edge of the pullout bed.

“I just want to close my eyes and pretend I’m still a useful human being.”

“Grandma, please don’t say things like that.”

“Then every time I open my mouth, deceit will fill your ears.”

“You’re very dramatic sometimes. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Usually, my playful tone can draw her out of any temporary bad moods. Not today, though. She just sighs and leans back, staring at the TV, but not really seeing it. She’s gazing all glassy eyed at nothing. Stuck in her own head.