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)
Honestly, I feel bad for this Lily girl. No one should have their sex life blasted on national news, especially if she does have a problem, and I wouldn’t be shocked if she’s being harassed by the media if this is still airing on TV.
Meara side-eyes her glass of Fizz soda like it’s somehow diseased. Dear God.
I slip the remote into my back pocket and escape toward the state-of-the-art gym to see if any of the members need an Evian or cold towel. I get as far as the windowed rotunda when a postman arrives with a stack of newspapers fresh off the press.
“I’ll take those,” I say like a dutiful employee. I am nothing if not helpful. Doing menial tasks. Not at all nosy.
“Just sign here, ma’am.” He passes me a clipboard along with a few envelopes addressed to the Konings’ LLC.
I consider signing Jake’s name. Or even Katherine’s. I’ve memorized their signatures out of habit. I should be a better version of myself and simply write, Phoebe, but self-preservation takes over, and I do a slightly immoral thing.
I scrawl an illegible curly signature that could read as SpongeBob. I hand the pen back with a smile. I’m going to hell.
At least Rocky will be there. It morphs my fake smile into a flush-inducing real one.
I’ve started thinking maybe it’s okay to not be honest all the time. Is it possible to give up the pieces of grifting I hate, but not reject everything I learned? Or will I have to hang up my con artist cap for good?
Questions of the future seem too far away to grasp when I can barely predict what’ll happen when everyone knows Hailey is pregnant. Today.
God, I can’t believe that’s happening today.
I’m nervous for her.
The postman leaves, and I slip the envelopes in my back pocket. (Will give those to Jake later, I’m not a total asshole.) I set the newspapers beside a glass dispenser of cucumber water, and I pluck a Victoria Weekly off the stack. Immediately flipping to the gossip column written by Sidney Burke.
SIDNEY SAYS
Entries for this year’s Victoria’s Sweetheart are now open. New residents = new competition this year?
Trent Waterford seen out with Hailey Thornhall once again! This time, a stroll through the park with Phoebe Smith and Grey Thornhall. A double date, perhaps?
Looks like a romance between Phoebe and Jake isn’t being rekindled anytime soon. Sad news for the Watersmith shippers.
Varrick Wolfe’s quest for an heir continues with the Konings, Bennets, Thornhalls, and Smiths summering at the infamous Wolfe property: Stonehaven. Sources say he’ll be naming the heir in the coming months. Be sure to watch from the pier to catch a glimpse of their comings and goings from the mansion.
Sidney has been covering the Wolfe drama since it began. Trevor told her the reason we’re all summering at Stonehaven. Gossip abounded. I’ve overheard some ladies at the pool putting bets on the outcome. The attention is good. It pulls people’s eyes off the growing discontent between Jake and Trent.
I keep reading, glazing over lines about a florist dating Mr. Ortiz and college students forking the dean’s yard, and then the warmth of a figure prickles my body.
Someone is behind me.
I see a male arm reaching inches away from my hip to grab a Weekly instead of politely asking me to move.
I whirl around on him. Not my boyfriend. Not any guy I would want within five feet of me. Could today get any worse?
Signs point to yes.
Because it’s Weston fucking Burke. Sidney’s dad. He wears all-white attire as if he’s posed for leisure sports like croquet or golf.
I can’t tell what I hate more—his self-satisfied expression, like he one-upped Rocky just by finding me alone, or the fact that he’s not budging backward and offering me much-needed space.
“Phoebe,” he greets. “Beautiful afternoon for a Cognac. Isn’t it?”
The fact that Cognac has become a sexual innuendo between us is nauseating and partially my own doing. At times, I wish I was never the new girl who flirted with the widowers to “appease” them during my shift. I wish I never felt like I had to.
Still, I am glad.
I’m glad that in almost a year, they haven’t checked out another server’s ass. I’m glad they’ve fixated on me. I worry if Jake hires a new girl, their attention will divert to her, and for what? It’s not like they’re tipping us.
I look away from him.
“Why don’t you go get me one, sweetheart?” I feel his gaze drip down me. “I’ll wait.” He unfurls the paper.
I don’t respond. I don’t entertain him. I don’t ask why he’s still a member at VCC when he should be flocking to the Mariner’s Club with the other widowers. I don’t care if he’s a rat come to spy and snitch. Or if he can’t leave the delicious tomato bisque served on Mondays. The best way to crush his superiority complex is to deem him irrelevant.