Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
My mother shot me a look. “Ray, maybe you should change.”
I sighed and slid off the stool, wishing these people would put out some sort of itinerary. “Can you keep an eye on Elara?”
“Of course.”
The front door opened, and masculine laughter erupted from the hall. “Shit.”
“Shit,” Elara repeated, and we all turned to gape at her.
Naomi laughed. “Did she just…?”
“I believe so,” my mother answered, also smiling.
“Well, don’t smile at her!” What the hell was happening to my well-ordered morning? I had a profane toddler, a murderous husband, and I looked like I stole my wardrobe from a bag lady. This was not how I had planned my day.
Marta carried a charcuterie tray into the dining room. I hung back because I could not sneak upstairs while the men removed their muddy boots in the foyer.
“What happens now?” I asked Phina.
“They eat and brag and fill their bloated egos with old fashioneds until dinner.”
It was only ten in the morning, and dinner wasn’t until six. Did they honestly plan on drinking for the next eight hours? Why wasn’t I told about this back when I could drink? I loved day drinking. Now, it just pissed me off.
I glanced at the back door, figuring that to be the only way to avoid the strangers infiltrating the front of the house. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Okay.” Phina uncorked another bottle of champagne.
I glanced at my mom. “Watch her.”
My mother waved me away. “We’re fine, Ray. Go.”
I hadn’t even brushed my hair yet. Avoiding the crowd, I slipped out the back door and rounded the house. It was damn cold this early in the morning and I, once again, regretted not grabbing a coat.
“We meet again.”
I spun from the car door and came face to face with Alexander Landry. “Xander. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“Hale invited me last night.”
“He did?”
His gaze dropped to my T-shirt and I crossed my arms over my chest. My nipples could cut glass in this weather.
He chuckled bringing his attention back to my face. “You look surprised.”
“I guess I am.”
“Why? Do you think your husband doesn’t like me?”
“That’s obviously not the case if he invited you here on Thanksgiving.”
“He invited me here in an attempt to intimidate me, Rayne.”
Every time he used my name it felt intentional, like he was trying to make a hidden point. “How do you figure?”
“Hale wanted me to see his weapons, generational wealth, and beautiful wife. Your husband has an undeniably enviable life to flaunt, and he wields it when he has to.”
I didn’t appreciate being categorized as an asset. If Hale wanted to show off my beauty, he could have at least given me a heads-up. “Are you leaving?”
He chuckled. “What fun would that be? I’m afraid that’s not how the game is played. We want to at least give Hale the sense of an upper hand, don’t we?”
Was that another gambling reference? “Well, I’m leaving.” I popped open the car door and hit the automatic start.
“Will I see you again?”
“Uh, this is my family’s Thanksgiving, so yeah, I plan on being with them.”
“And your boss’s.” He winked. “It should be an interesting day. See you later, Rayne.” He loped up the front steps, leaving me more confused than ever.
I was going to strangle Hale.
Once I got home I took a bath, in no rush to get back to Remington’s house. I really needed to go shopping and considered running out with Phina, but how many stores would be open on Thanksgiving? I needed maternity clothes, which would be even more difficult to find, so I gave up on that idea and stewed in the tub.
My body was expanding by the minute. I was constantly out of breath and forgetting what I was doing. I had to take three breaks just to blow out my hair, and by the time I was finished, I wanted to nap.
Though my wardrobe was limited, I packed a few decent items but nothing suitable for the upper-crust company. Once again, I wished someone had given me a little notice.
Opting for leggings, a white, long-sleeved T-shirt and an orange duster, I made do with what I owned. I had not prepared a designer look for Thanksgiving because, where I came from, Thanksgiving was family, football, turkey farts, and naps.
The mood was lively when I returned to Remington’s house, and the testosterone was palpable. One glance into the parlor, and I rolled my eyes. I didn’t see Hale, but the rest of the men looked to be on their third or fourth drink.
What an emotional circle jerk. It was one big stroke fest.
Oh, look how big my gun is…
Aren’t I powerful?
I can shoot a bird that was bread and fed to think it’s safe here…
Oh, that was a bad feeling. I had to watch my inner monologue because pregnancy kept me constantly on the verge of tears. “Stupid men,” I mumbled under my breath as I put together a sandwich at the sideboard. “I don’t trust you. Want to come to my house for Thanksgiving…” I rolled my eyes. “Idiots.”