Chapter Twenty-Three
1343 Words
Chapter Twenty-Three
The drive over chewed through Adalia’s nerves like her old customer on an éclair. What would he say?
She nibbled on her bottom lip hard and tasted blood, then swore and licked her lips to staunch the tiny trickle. She wasn’t in her right mind. What if he saw her and slammed the door in her face because of how she’d treated him?
Adalia turned into the driveway and continued a stream of curses right up until she parked outside his front door. She couldn’t help it. This terrified her. Rejection and failure were her two main fears and they floated above her head like a haze.
“Come on, you can do this, you can talk to him. He won’t reject you, otherwise why would he have called you like twenty times the other day?” She chanted the words over again, so they’d sink into her soul and chase away the fear.
It didn’t really work though.
She stared up at the white face of his mansion with its empty windows, staring out on the city. It was far enough away from the central area to be safe, and close enough to be within reach. Perfectly situated for a man of Trent’s stature, of course.
Riiiiiing.
What now? She switched off the car and reached into her bag, fumbling for her smartphone in its depths. Maybe it was him, calling to ask how she was, or maybe to offer her the bakery again.
She’d love to hear his voice. But the caller ID was hidden.
She swept her thumb across the green phone icon. “Hello?”
“Hey, I had to call and find out if you was okay.” DeShawn’s voice rang out, and that frustration at him grew again. He was always in the way, interfering and causing trouble when she didn’t need him.
“What do you want, DeShawn? I’m kinda in the middle of something here.”
“We need to talk.” She’d heard that from him millions of times in the past months, and she was so over it.
“No, we don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I say so. We don’t need to talk about anything. It’s over between us and I don’t want you in my life anymore. I’ve told you that at least twenty bajillion times but you just don’t get the point. It’s over between us, DeShawn. I want nothing to do with you.”
He went quiet for a minute then sniffed. “Told ya, I won’t take no for no answer.”
She rolled her eyes. “We have that in common then, double negatives aside.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing. Don’t call this number again.” She hung up and tucked the phone back into her bag.
Riiiiiing.
She didn’t bother picking it up or checking the caller ID – it would be him calling back. He didn’t know when no meant no, and he’d had that problem when they’d dated, too. She’d fallen for him out of desperation, and because he’d looked at her as if he wanted her.
At the time she’d felt fat and disgusted with herself. She’d needed the muscly wannabe gangsta for the self-esteem boost, but those days were gone.
Adalia was big and beautiful. She’d accepted that long ago. She didn’t need a man to confirm her beauty, not a pot-smoking ghetto broke dude or a go-getter billionaire with an alpha-male complex.
But she did need him in other ways. In every other way.
Riiiiiiiing.
That ringtone would have to change, it annoyed her to the core now. She brought out the phone again, ignored the missed calls, and put it on silent so she wouldn’t be caught out while she ‘stalked’ Trent in his own home.
That was kinda creepy. She laughed at herself, then paused and sighed.
Adalia grimaced and squished the steering wheel. She could still drive away. What if he wasn’t even home? The gates were open, but that didn’t mean he was inside the massive mansion. Maybe he left them like that out of habit, because his alarm system was that good.
Billionaires were crazy like that.
Adalia swiveled and looked at the garage. His car was parked in front and so was... whose Porsche was that? She’d seen it somewhere before, but she couldn’t quite place it.
Likely that Withnail Harrington guy. God, she’d scared him the last time, she owed him an apology for her behavior regardless of what had gone on between her and Trent.
Adalia got out of the car and closed the door as quietly as she could. She wanted the element of surprise on her side, to catch him off guard and stop him from kicking her out before she’d said her piece.
She crept up to the front door and made to ring the bell, but it was ajar. That was weird – it made things easier though. She pressed it open and listened for him, turning her head left and right.
He was probably in the living room having a drink with Mr. Harrington. She hurried in that direction and the muffled sound of talking confirmed her suspicions. She paused and frowned. That didn’t sound like a man, though.
Adalia stalked up to the living room door and pressed her ear to it.
“I think she just wanted your money and that was it. She didn’t care about you as a person, Trent, baby. You see that, right?”
“Had enough,” Trent said, and Adalia gripped the door handle to open up.
“Adalia Montclair,” the woman said, and she stopped midway. That voice was...
The vision of the Porsche and the timbre of the woman’s tone crashed together in her mind. Michelle Van Heerden was in the living room with her man. Michelle.
The molten lava was back, and she got down on both knees and glared through the keyhole. At least the b***h had her clothes on.
“You should have told her you weren’t ready for anything because you were waiting for me.” Michelle wore a slinky pink number, and stood in front of Trent, who was on one of the chairs, leaning back and staring off into space.
His expression was emotionless, painted with the numbness Adalia had lived with the past few weeks.
Her heart went out to him, and she stood to open the door again. But Michelle Van Heerden wasn’t done yet, and her sentiment rang through the wood of the door, driving up the heat past molten, to sheer surface-of-the-sun temperatures.
“I know it’s tough for you, babe, but there’s no use longing for someone who doesn’t want you. It’s clear that she was a user and abuser.”
Adalia was gratified for a moment; apparently, he’d been longing for her after all.
Adalia heard the sound of a zipper, and material hitting the floor. She pressed her eye to the keyhole again. Michelle was n***d, but for a thong and b*a. She was flawless in that, so skinny and toned.
If Trent touched her, Adalia would lose it. She couldn’t stand this a second longer.
He was still mute and staring dead ahead, blinking occasionally, but he hadn’t asked the b***h to leave him alone. Why not?
“I’ve waited so long to be with you, to touch you and hold you. To ride that fat c**k of yours. God, this is going to be exquisite. I’ll make you forget all about that slut.”
“Adalia,” he whispered, shaking his head.
Michelle nodded. “Yes, that one. You’ll forget all about her after I’ve done you right.” She climbed onto his lap, straddling him, and gyrated backward and forward, then moved her hips in circles. “Don’t you want a taste?”
Trent didn’t answer, and Adalia couldn’t make out his expression. This was too much – why didn’t he push her away? If he really didn’t want her, if they weren’t an item, why didn’t he push that horrible woman away?
“Yeah, now you’re mine, look into my eyes,” Michelle whispered, then lowered her head and kissed him. Slurping noises filled the room, and there was an audible snap in Adalia’s brain. DONE!
Adalia kicked the door open. “What the f**k is going on here?”
She charged into the room and the pair sprang apart. Trent swayed slightly then focused on her and his eyes widened.
“Adalia?”
Michelle Van Heerden stood, wearing nothing but a thong and lacy b*a and she didn’t attempt to cover herself up.
“Ms. Montclair, what a pleasant surprise.”
-To be continued in Book 2-
- Writer
