Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
I think back to the night of his party, sharing with him my confession about wasting thousands of dollars on so-called psychics as an attempt to connect with my dead sister.
I was conned by each and every one of them.
And now I’ve been conned by him—the biggest con of them all.
“Leave.” I can’t look at him anymore.
“Brie, if—”
“Get out.” I don’t recognize this shrill, pain-filled version of my voice, not at first.
By the time I do … he’s gone.
40
Cainan
I trudge home with a hammering headache. In a mental fog. Numb. Replaying Brie’s reaction to the tattoo again and again in my mind and growing more confused each time.
The tears in her eyes.
The pain in her voice.
“I can’t believe you would do something like that …” her words are fresh in my ears—and they make zero sense.
Does she think I knew about the tattoo somehow? That I’m attempting to manipulate her like some con man trying to scam his way into her heart?
I never should have told her about the dream. I never should have believed her when she said she’d have an open mind. My own sister couldn’t even have an open mind when I told her about it.
By the time I’m home, I’m deflated and empty. I imagine this is what it feels like when you bet the house and lose your entire life savings. It was a calculated risk, sharing the dream with her and knowing damn well I was going to sound like a crazy person, but I was so sure it would pay off that I just went for it.
I kick my shoes off, draw the curtains, and collapse in a heap on the sofa. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I drag in a ragged breath.
I knew I couldn’t be with her before, but at least I could’ve kept her in my life.
Now I can’t have her at all.
I close my eyes and try to force myself back to sleep. I can’t stand to be awake another minute with these thoughts.
Or my new reality.
41
Brie
“Guess who’s golfing with Dad right now?” Megan asks Saturday morning.
Moments after I sent Cainan packing, she rang my phone and told me she’s coming into town next weekend to visit.
A divine intervention.
I didn’t tell her what had happened. I didn’t tell her about the tattoo or the chipped tooth. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it and make sense of it. Still wondering if I overreacted or if my inclinations that he was attempting to scam me were spot on.
“Sounds like I need to have another talk with both of them.” I sip my coffee, which is now cold. I stick it in the microwave for thirty seconds. When it’s done, I pour it down the drain. I don’t want that cup anymore.
“Honestly, it’s getting to be a little much. It’s like Carly and Alana’s husbands are chopped liver and Grant’s the son he never had.” She exhales. “And Mom invites him over for dinner at least once a week …”
I groan.
“Please. Make it stop,” she begs.
“I had a talk with him last week at the hospital.” To be fair, it was more of a verbal lashing than a talk. But after all the pestering, the man had it coming. And I thought it’d worked. I thought I’d gotten through to him … because I haven’t heard from him since. “I guess I can talk to him again?”
“Also, I didn’t want to tell you this … and I’m still a little weirded out by it … but I ran into him a few weeks ago at this nightclub downtown. We said hi. Whatever. Then he bought me a drink. And from the rest of the night on, he was hanging all over me.”
“Hanging all over you?”
“Yeah. Putting his hand on the small of my back. Leaning close. Trying to flirt.” She sounds like she’s about to gag. “The whole thing left this really bad taste in my mouth. He was definitely trying to take things beyond … where they needed to be.”
“Ugh. Megs. I’m so sorry. I’ll talk to him again. And I’ll talk to Mom. And Dad.” I slide onto a counter stool and rest my cheek against my hand.
“There’s more.”
“There’s more?” I sit straighter.
“I overheard Mom and Dad talking, and it sounds like Dad’s about to transfer a bunch of his accounts to Grant’s firm.”
My blood turns to ice, and I almost drop the phone.
Is that all he wanted? All this time? My father’s accounts? Did he research me before our first date and figure out exactly who my father was? Anyone with half a brain cell in the Phoenix area has heard of him, has seen his billboards, has lived in one of his custom homes or apartments, or leased an office building.
My father has secured a place on the Forbes 500 every year for the past decade—it’s public knowledge. And for someone like Grant, working in the financial sector, it’s likely common knowledge, too.