Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Punching the address into my map app on my phone, I grimaced at how long it would take to get there. Ten hours on the road meant I needed to head home and grab some of my stuff before I left since I wasn’t sure if I’d be gone for a day or a week…or longer.
I called my mom as I drove back to my apartment. It was a good thing she was an early riser because I forgot to take into account the four-hour time difference, so it was only six o’clock her time. “Good morning, sweetie. What a nice way to start my day, with a call from my beautiful daughter.”
“Staying warm?”
“It’s supposed to be a gorgeous summer day. I’ll be plenty warm,” she assured me.
There was a good twenty-degree difference between her summer weather in Alaska and mine. “Only because your wood-burning stove is probably running.”
“True.” She laughed, but only for a moment before she asked, “What’s wrong?”
My mom knew me very well, so I wasn’t surprised that it only took her a minute to realize something was going on. She’d divorced my dad eight years ago, and I didn’t think it would be fair to drag her into this mess. So I chose to tell her only the parts that wouldn’t worry her. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m taking a road trip to Georgia.”
“Really?” she squealed. “I’m so glad to hear that you’re taking some time to have fun before you decide what career path you want to take. And a road trip? You know how much I love them.”
Considering how many hours I’d spent in the back seat of a car during family vacations, I was very much aware of her fondness for them. “Yup, and I’m going to stop off in a little town called Riverstone to meet one of Dad’s old work friends, Connor Kingsley. Do you know him?”
“The name sounds vaguely familiar, but you know how closed-lipped your father is.”
Her answer didn’t surprise me, but I was relieved to know that the name at least rang a bell for her. It was confirmation of what had been in the letter. If my dad had mentioned this Connor guy to her, then he definitely trusted him. He wouldn’t have risked cracking that door open otherwise. Something I kept reminding myself during the long drive…even more so when I pulled up to the address I’d been given.
A tall, electric gate surrounded the property, with a manned booth in front. A guy stepped out when I pulled up, and he gestured for me to roll my window down. “You lost?”
I beamed him my biggest smile, hoping to dazzle him into letting me through. “That depends. Is Connor Kingsley inside?”
“You mean King?” he asked, brows drawing together.
It wasn’t a stretch to assume that was Dad’s friend’s nickname. “Yup.”
“Lemme call the clubhouse and see if he’s available.”
I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel while he turned his back on me to have his conversation. Unfortunately, he spoke low enough that I didn’t hear what was said, so I wasn’t sure how to argue when he spun around again and announced, “Sorry, but no can do. The prez isn’t expecting anyone, and we don’t allow strangers inside.”
“Then I guess you have a problem.” I crossed my arms against my chest and quirked a brow. “Because I’m not going anywhere until I speak with Connor.”
Shaking his head, he heaved a deep sigh. “So fucking weird hearing his first name.”
“Connor, Connor, Connor,” I chanted, hoping to throw him off his game. All that accomplished was getting me ignored for the next ten minutes.
I had the air conditioner cranked all the way up since it was hot outside and the window was still down. Which meant I got to hear the guy mutter the entire time. Finally, he huffed and stomped back over to my SUV. “Are you really just gonna sit there until you get your way? ’Cause I gotta tell you, it ain’t gonna happen no matter how long you wait.”
“Well then I hope that nobody else shows up who’s actually expected because I’m more stubborn than anyone you’ve ever met before,” I warned. “He’s going to be pissed that you’re not letting me through. I have information he’ll want.”
“Fanculo.”
“Mi dispiace.”
I didn’t really mean my apology since I was feeling pretty smug over the fact that he felt as though he was fucked, but it was satisfying to see the stunned expression on his face when I replied in Italian. And it earned me another call to the clubhouse. Not that it did any good.
Another twenty minutes later, I decided to pull out the big guns. One of the first lessons my dad taught me was that a girl had to use every weapon at her disposal. A woman crying made most men uncomfortable, so it was a handy tool when needed. So I turned on the waterworks, hoping I’d finally get through that gate.