Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Am I purposely trying to make Rae uncomfortable? I don’t know yet. I really haven’t decided if she’s a friend or foe. I can’t hold it against her for sleeping with Milo. I’d jump at the chance.
“My grandparents live in San Antonio, so we’ll spend the day there. And we’ll have turkey, not Spam.” She chuckles. “I hope. But that sucks that your family isn’t engaged with you since you’re gone so much.”
“Well, I have Milo.”
He’s mine. Mine. Mine. MINE!
She eyes me with an unreadable expression.
“So …” I clear my throat. “What do you do, Rae?”
“I’m a pharmaceutical rep. I work for Ellington Pharmaceuticals.” She gives me a sheepish grin before turning to wash the baking sheets.
I didn’t know Fletcher owned a pharmaceutical company. I haven’t kept up with all of his businesses. But I’m not real family, so why should I?
“Does everyone in your family work for Fletcher?”
“Not yet.” Rae laughs, squirting dish soap onto the cookie sheet. “But since Fletcher seems to own everything, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.” She sounds impressed. “Are you going straight into the family business, or are you going to college first?”
“College. I’m not interested in the family business.”
Rae’s penciled eyebrows slide up her forehead when she glances at me over her shoulder. “You might change your mind. I understand what it’s like to be your age and not feel like you want to make life commitments yet.”
“Mmm …” I nod slowly.
Rae dries her hands and grabs her phone, staring at the screen. “Milo’s having dinner with your dad. Looks like I’ll have to fend for myself and wait to surprise him with these cookies later.”
“Well, good luck with your surprise. I was just dropping off the eggs.” I make a calculated retreat to the door. “See you around.”
Only … I hope not.
“Absolutely,” Rae says. “Have a happy Thanksgiving.”
“You too.” I slam the door shut and pound my brown cowboy boots into the dirt as I make my way to the blacktop and up to the main house where Milo’s truck is parked by the fountain in the circle drive.
“Is that you, Indie?” Fletcher calls when I close the door.
I take a deep breath and contemplate answering him or just running to my bedroom.
“Come here, darlin’.”
Darlin’? I hate when he calls me that. It was endearing when Ruthie was alive, but nothing is endearing about him anymore.
Tugging off my dirty boots, I grumble my displeasure before brushing off my jeans and shuffling my socked feet to the dining room.
“Have a seat. Milo and I were just discussing holiday plans. Jolene will be here tomorrow. You two can catch up. Maybe she can help you pick out some colleges to apply to.”
Go fuck yourself, Fletcher.
I smile at him but keep plenty of disingenuousness to share with Milo sitting just to Fletcher’s left. The table seats twenty. I like tables that seat four or fewer. Anything more is excess, and I’m over all the excess.
But mainly, I wonder if Milo’s thinking about colleges for me or what it felt like to have his middle finger inside me last night.
“I’m good. Jolene and I don’t have the same taste in much.”
“Well, have a seat. Micah will fix you a plate,” Fletcher says.
I shake my head. “I already ate. I also cleaned out the chicken coops. You’re welcome, Milo. Oh … and Rae is at your place. Spoiler alert.” I wrinkle my nose. “She’s making you cookies. But don’t tell her I said so. Just act surprised.”
Milo stiffens, pausing his fork an inch from his mouth.
Fletcher shoots him a look. “You two still seeing each other?”
Milo lifts a shoulder, averting his gaze for a second before taking that bite of medium-rare steak. “Sometimes.”
“Enjoy it while you can,” Fletcher gives him the go-ahead. “I don’t fault you a bit. Make sure she knows you have nothing serious to offer her. Ty won’t appreciate anything less than honesty.”
Milo sneaks a glance at me. I don’t blink. I silently dare him to say one word. He swallows and clears his throat before wiping his mouth with the white napkin while offering Fletcher the tiniest nod.
“Christ … what now?” Fletcher looks at his phone. “Excuse me.” He stands, bringing it to his ear and heading toward his office.
“Indie …” Milo says, setting his fork down and scooting his chair backward.
I stop him with a firm headshake. “Enjoy it while you can.” I turn on my heel and head out the back door. I can’t even be in the same house as those two.
Mud, Fletcher’s chocolate lab, follows me to the trail that borders the secluded pond and connects to the pasture where the horses graze. “Your master is an asshole,” I say to Mud, “but I like you.” I stop just long enough to scratch him behind the ears.