Chapter Nineteen
Adalia charged down the stairs, n***d feet slapping on the marble. She didn’t care about the cold, or her n***d body wobbling around for anyone to see.
“Trent!” she yelled louder this time, and heard a noise from the living room.
She walked in then stopped dead. Trent was there all right, but he wasn’t alone. An old man in a suit and lurid tie, with a pair of specs perched atop his bald head sat with him, staring at her as if she’d lost her mind.
Maybe she had.
“Adalia,” Trent said, coloring blood red. “What the hell are you doing?”
She searched the room for her dress and found it lying folded neatly atop the bar. She dumped her bag on the floor, pulled it on and half-zipped it up without his help. He tried to do the rest, but she smacked him away.
The old dude rose
