Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
When he steals my attention, he points at my sister like she’s a defective toy he can’t play with, and I shrug at him like Told you it’s impossible, man.
Trent loves to chase after what he can’t have. He never listens to the word no. He hates being told, You can’t. His entitled response in every scenario is I will.
I can see his brain circling over the words now: I will get Hailey Thornhall to marry me.
The movie on the green is just the start of me stoking his desire for the Wolfe fortune and Hailey playing hard to get. By Wednesday, a sunset cocktail cruise has Trent downing whiskey shots to entertain Hailey’s rambling energy.
I’m never far. Trent likes when I appear and cut in on their conversation. I take pleasure in his twisting scowl and annoyed glances. He’s short with Hailey, then tries to apologize. Poorly.
He can’t pretend to like her. Not even with billions and his pride on the line. At the end of the night, he ditches Hailey to go flirt with the stewardesses.
“I’m losing him,” she whispers to me.
“No, you aren’t,” I say into my sip of bourbon. “You aren’t supposed to sleep with him.” Even uttering the words makes me want to empty my stomach over the bow.
“He’s going to get tired of the chase.”
“He won’t. Trust me, don’t act like you want him, Hails.”
She still hasn’t noticed Oliver keeping an eye on her from the upper deck. He parties with Collin Falcone and Trent’s laundry list of part-time friends. The two of us being so ingrained in Trent’s social circle isn’t just helpful; it’s vital.
In town, Oliver, Collin, Trent, and I are still dubbed the Fortunate Four (stupid). Trent acts like he’s far above the moniker but will bring it up to bag out-of-towners everyone calls “skunks” (also stupid) like we’re wealthy celebrities.
We party late into the night.
I stay away from the girls. From the booze. Trent would prefer I partake with him, but I cite work. He believes I’m employed by the CIA.
The real reason, of course, is Phoebe.
It’s not the first sunset cocktail cruise Trent invites Hailey to. The second and third, she rejects.
He’s never been shot down by someone who’s slept with the VCC bartender, valet, and not to mention, “That ugly fuck, what’s his name?”
“Clark,” I tell him. “The pool guy.”
I hope this is making him toss and turn on his sweaty fucking pillow every single night. He storms into Stonehaven most evenings and drowns his failings in Varrick’s liquor cabinet. He’s never been such a loser (he’s always been a fucking loser), and I twist the knife inch by inch, reminding him he should’ve never bet me.
I’m going to win.
“You’re sadistic,” Phoebe tells me when I sneak into her bedroom.
“It’s turning you on.”
“Not even.”
“I’d believe you more if you weren’t the Cheshire fucking Cat right now.”
She crosses her arms on the bed, barely able to hide her smile with a scowl. “You’re taking so much enjoyment from tormenting him.” Phoebe teases me every time I rehash Trent’s bitchy little breakdowns.
It’s a great summer. (So far. I’m not getting ahead of myself.)
Bolstered by the fact that Trent knows, actively knows, I’m pursuing my ex-wife, and I remind him he doesn’t want Phoebe anyway. He should be going after the billions.
Trent isn’t tossing in the towel. His fragile little ego is now at stake.
Since Hailey won’t integrate herself in his social circle, he begins showing up to hers. He attends the quirky town events he so very much detests, bringing me, Oliver, and Collin along. The town is buzzing as the Trent Koning Waterford becomes more of a day bird instead of an elusive night owl.
Could he have his eye on a girl?
My little brother gets Sidney to publish theories about Trent looking for love in her gossip column. He’s ready to move on from his late wife and the grief of losing his beloved mother as he becomes more active in the community.
At the lobster roll fest, Trent asks Hailey on a formal date.
She crinkles her nose. “I don’t date.”
He lets out an incredulous laugh. “What does that mean?”
She pops a piece of lobster in her mouth. “I like to just do my own thing.”
“She’s too good for you, Trent,” Phoebe notes.
“Oh, is that right, Phoebe?” Trent mocks back.
I shoot him a glare from behind his head, then mouth to Phoebe, Knock it off.
She’s drawing his attention in the wrong direction. Hailey licks her thumb and just leaves his side to go read her book. She finds a seat on a bench, places her lobster roll down, and cracks open the paperback.
He shields the sun with his hand. “Why don’t you put a good word in for me with your friend, Phoebe?”
“Why don’t you go choke on a twelve-inch lobster roll?”