Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
First, he thanks me, and now he’s apologizing. What in the hell has gotten into Bennett Bishop tonight?
“I appreciate that, Bennett, I really do, but I wouldn’t say Friday night showcased my best self. I wasn’t exactly in line either,” I admit. “I’m sorry for slapping you.”
“I deserved it,” he admits, and half of his mouth quirks up. “Well, at least the first one. The second might’ve been a little overkill.”
“Yeah.” I cringe, and one puff of humor escapes my nose. “I’d have to agree with you on that.”
“How late did you end up staying at the bar and hanging out with that farmer?”
“Who? Tad?” I nearly laugh. “Lord, I thought I was chatty, but that man just about talked my ear off. And I didn’t stay long. Left right after you did, actually.”
“You’re not interested in him?” he questions then, almost reshaping my spine, it snaps so straight.
“Um, no.” This time, I do laugh. “I mean, Josie was right to call him hot and all, but no, I am not interested in him. Plus, I’ve got a whole cargo ship of relationship drama. I don’t need to be jumping into anything right now.”
“Ah, yes. Thomas Conrad Michael King III. How in the hell did you end up with a pretentious prick like him anyway?”
Bennett takes the ramp onto the bypass around the only small town between us and Red Bridge, and I shuffle in my seat to find the words.
“Put simply? My mother. She’s been orchestrating every detail of my life since the day my dad died. And Thomas was a means to an end. The success, the wealth, being in the right circle of people.”
“And what? You just woke up one day and got tired of the whole deal?”
I shake my head as tears sting my eyes, my whole body feeling instantly like I’m standing at the bathroom sink of St. Patrick’s Cathedral all over again. “No. I woke up on my wedding day and got ready to marry the man I thought I loved. And then a woman handed me a letter that changed everything.”
“A letter?”
The truth will set you free.
“A letter. Turns out, Thomas Conrad Michael King III isn’t just a self-important asshole. He’s way, way worse. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with the information ever since.”
When I realize I’ve just told him more than I’ve told my own sister, I wait for the shock to fill my gut. But it never comes. For some reason, it just feels right. It feels like I can trust him.
“Is it illegal?” Bennett asks, eyeing me out of his periphery. “Because if it is, you should turn that shit over to the cops. Let him rot.”
I shake my head. “It’s so much more complicated than that. I…I can’t believe I ever thought he was a good person.”
The car is silent for a minute as I gather my thoughts. Surprisingly, Bennett is the one to break it.
“I used to burn shit down for fun when I was younger. Did you know that?”
“You mean…like, arson?”
He nods, his face illuminated by a warm mix of moon and streetlight. “My brother Logan and I were firebugs, and just like Thomas Fuckwad the Third, we had more money than we knew what to do with. We spent every night drunk or high, tangled in women, and partying until we couldn’t stand up. Previously, we’d only burned shit our father owned, which was twisted in itself, but at least legally loopholed. But one night, after some rich asshole had been hammering me to get one of my paintings on his wall because he was obsessed with buying and selling art, I decided I wanted to fuck him over, and Logan was more than happy to join in. We ended up burning his car.”
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah.” He actually chuckles. “A Lamborghini, of all things.”
I gasp. “Oh my God, Bennett.”
“I know.”
“How the hell did you get out of that? Out of going to jail?”
“My brother Logan took the fall, and Breezy told me to get the fuck out of New York and keep my shit out of trouble.”
“Wow. Your brother Logan sounds—”
“No, whatever you’re about to say, don’t say it. My brother is no fucking martyr. He took the fall for the price of ten million dollars from my father, only spent thirty days in jail, and then helped himself to my girlfriend as a bonus.”
“What? Why the hell would your dad pay him to take the fall instead of both of you? You said you did it together.”
His laugh is bitter. “Because I’m a commodity for Bishop Galleries, Norah. My going to prison wouldn’t make financial sense, of course. But my point is that you’re not a bad person for not recognizing how shitty someone else was. You got fucked over, plain and simple. I am a bad person. At least, I was.”