Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Another hit.
Closer to the bone this time.
“Good people have to pay their bills too, Rowan.” I was untouched by my brother’s nobility act. “You can stay the good guy if you like. I’m happy to be the bad guy to ensure you get paid.”
His brows narrowed, his expression turning more hostile by the moment. “I don’t give a shit if I get paid. I give a shit about good people keeping their businesses and lives afloat.”
“The boat was still floating last time I saw it… Though barely,” I replied dryly. Somehow, my memories of the boat, the sunshine, the scent of the ocean and coffee—was already a fond one.
I didn’t have many fond memories that were just mine, that didn’t include my brother, my friends, my nieces and nephews.
Rowan’s eyes were thunderous. “This isn’t a fuckin’ joke, Cal. You’re going to deliver this,” he slammed a check down on the counter, “back to where it came from.”
I craned my head to look at it, though I could deduce what it was. Elliot wasn’t a loudmouth. He just paid his bills. Noble. Responsible. “I’m not in the habit of doing stupid things,” I informed my brother. “And I’m definitely not in the habit of giving back money owed. What is the big deal? They paid you.”
“With money they need,” Rowan gritted out. “Beau—Elliot’s brother—his four-year-old girl has leukemia. He’s a single dad. The bills are fucking astronomical. This…” he tapped the check. “Is not going anywhere but to her. Return the fucking check, Cal.”
I might’ve been a breed of a heartless monster, but even my chest cavity contracted when Rowan said what he said.
A little girl. With leukemia.
The horrors of this world never ceased.
“I won’t cash the check,” I promised him, relenting immediately. Poison crept up my throat. Regret. Shame.
Being a cold-hearted bitch had paid off more than not, and there were not a lot of situations when my whole ‘ask for forgiveness not permission’ thing made me regret my personality. This topped them all.
Rowan shook his head. “You’ll return the fucking check.”
“I don’t need to do that.” I jutted my chin upward, not letting my expression waver. Yes, I felt exceptionally ashamed that I’d essentially shaken down the uncle of a sick girl, but that didn’t mean I was going to let my mask slip.
Rowan narrowed his eyes. “You absolutely fucking do. And if you don’t, consider yourself out of a job.”
I widened my eyes at my brother. “Is that a threat?”
Nothing in his expression changed. My brother had his own mask that he wasn’t letting slip. Except it wasn’t a mask. This anger, this disdain, this lack of respect, this was what he thought of the person I truly was. “No, Calliope, it’s a fucking promise.”
I could feel the wrath in Rowan’s words. He wasn’t fucking around here.
“Why do you have to make the big statement?” I pushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Just so you can say you got me to do what you wanted me to do for once in your life?” I tried to add a teasing edge to my tone, if only to try to file down the point of a little girl who didn’t deserve her fate.
Rowan’s expression didn’t so much as crack. “I know this is hard for you to digest, but this isn’t about you, Calliope.”
I didn’t wince, but somewhere deep down, that smarted.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, this is about how you, Rowan Derrick, are a good and noble man.” There might’ve been an edge of bitterness to my tone that time.
Rowan’s gaze was still steely, but the edges of his mouth softened somewhat. “You, Calliope Derrick, are good and noble too. But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” He tapped his finger on the check. “As long as you return this. And your niece wants to extend the invitation to a tea party tomorrow afternoon.”
I stared at the check on the counter, not answering my brother, digesting what I’d done and how Rowan must’ve been rusty if he didn’t notice he was staring a villain right in the face. Or maybe he was a really good liar.
Rowan hadn’t moved. I could feel the heaviness of his gaze even when I wasn’t looking directly at him. “Can I tell her you’ll be there?”
Although I was mildly pissed, no way in hell would I do anything to offend my favorite person in the world—or one of them, at least.
“You can RSVP me yes,” I snapped.
“Good.” I could hear the smile in Rowan’s voice.
Then he walked out, leaving me with the check and a heavy conscience.
The next day, before my tea party, I pulled into the parking lot of Shaw Shack.
I’d tried to go back to the docks, but a friendly fisherman—one who looked a lot more like I’d envisioned, with stringy, gray hair and a weathered face that could’ve put him at fifty or seventy—informed me Elliot was working at the Shack today.