Alex gives me a quick hug before I watch the two people I love most in the world walk away.
Chapter 30
Tinley
“You’ll be fine,” I tell Alex when he refuses to get out of the car. “Go inside and lock the door. This won’t take long.”
“But if you’re going to Dad’s, I don’t understand why I can’t go, too.”
His eyes plead with me, but there’s no way I want him to witness the anger that’s been bubbling up inside of me. I’ve had sad eyes on me all day, but as much as I’d like to say I’m immune to my kid looking at me like this now, I’m not.
“Go,” I urge. “The sooner I leave, the sooner I can get back. There’s pizza in the freezer. Preheat the oven to four hundred degrees. Wait for the beep this time or it’s not going to turn out right.”
“Is this a sex thing?”
I sputter at his question. “What? No, it’s not a sex thing!”
Jesus, what has my kid learned at school.
Reluctantly, he eventually climbs out of the car, and I wait to pull away until I watch him safely enter the house.
It’s hard to keep my eyes off my purse. I put the envelope Ignacio left in there because I didn’t want Alex finding it, and I’ve ignored the damn thing way too long. Letting him drop it on me then walking away was a cowardly thing to do. If the man wants to give me bad news, he can face me while he does it.
The drive is short, but I take my time anyway. Nerves have my shoulders tense and my fingers tapping on the steering wheel as I pull up in front of his house. I can’t focus on the other car parked on the street because there’s a huge ratty dumpster taking up most of the driveway.
I keep my eyes on it as I climb out of the car, running into someone I didn’t notice. Chills race up my spine when warm hands land on my bare arms. Getting lost in thought is so very dangerous around here, and I don’t calm at all when I snap my head around and find a smiling, familiar face looking down at me.
“Ms. Holland,” the man says, his hands giving me a little squeeze before he releases me and takes a step back.
“M-Mr. Morgan,” I say, my voice unsure as I speak to the man who bought my mother’s house. “Are you buying this house, too?”
The dumpster makes sense if Ignacio is planning to remodel his grandfather’s house to prepare it for sale. It also means he’s going to be living in a better house, one that will present much better than the one I’ll have to scrape enough money together to rent. His one-up is a slap to the face.
I consider asking the man in front of me for more time in the house, maybe until Alex is done with the school year and baseball season is over, but I don’t. He’s a businessman and owes me nothing. Plus, if he’s buying houses for gentrification plans, I doubt he has any concern for the people who will be either displaced or have to move because rent prices go through the roof.
“This house?” He looks over at Ig’s house with such disdain in his eyes. “Possibly, but the guy who owns it is a real asshole.”
I snort my agreement.
“You’re not going to go in there are you?” Movement on the porch catches my eye, but I don’t have to look over to know that Ignacio is standing there with a scowl on his face. “You’re way too pretty to be around a jerk like that.”
I roll my lips between my teeth, growing uncomfortable with his compliment. I didn’t take him for a slimeball when he came to my house, but I was in a bad mood that day, and there’s a real chance I didn’t catch his leering. Not that he’s leering now.
His smile grows larger when Ignacio grunts from the porch like an untrained animal issuing a warning shot before he attacks. The sound of ownership, even the hint of I don’t want her but you can’t have her either makes my hackles go up further, which is saying something because I climbed out of my car livid with that man.
I turn my head, narrowing my eyes at my ex to find his gaze locked on the man in front of me. I’d be a fool to think if I piss him off enough by flirting with Mr. Morgan that he’ll refuse to work with him. There’s always another realtor that’s willing to step in, especially with the rumor of a better up-and-coming neighborhood on the horizon.
“Did you have any questions about your property, Ms. Holland?” The question comes loud enough for the neighbors to hear, and of course there’s a flirtatiousness to his tone, one that suggests he’s here to help. “We could go for a coffee and discuss anything you’d like.”
Another growl from Ignacio, another step back for me.
It’s not unheard of around here for women to use their bodies to get what they want, but that’s just not me. I want to save my house from getting torn down because of the memories that live there, but sexual favors in return would have both of my parents rolling over in their graves.
“Or dinner, if you think we’d need a more intimate setting?”
“Are you fucking done?” Ignacio snaps from the front porch.
Mr. Morgan smiles, his eyes alight with mischief, and the man doesn’t even bother to look over at the unhappy guy speaking to him.
“Fuck. Off,” Ignacio hisses.
“Here’s my card in case you have any questions.” Mr. Morgan slips it into my hand as I continue to glare at Ignacio. “Any questions at all. My personal cell number is on there, just in case something pops up after hours.”
I look down at the card in my hand before looking back up at him. “I don’t—”
“Day or night, Ms. Holland. I’m always available for you.” With a wink, he walks away and climbs into his car.
Ignacio glares at his car, a different one from the one he was driving when he visited my house, until it turns down the street and disappears.
“You were rude to that man,” I hiss.
“He was hitting on you.”
“And? You don’t fucking own me, Ig. This possessive alpha man bullshit has no place in any interaction we have.”
His jaw tenses, but he doesn’t argue the point. “What are you doing here, Tinley? You’ve made it perfectly fucking clear where you stand.”
“I want you to explain this.” I pull the envelope out of my purse and hold it up. He keeps his eyes on mine, not even bothering to look at the thing.
“I wanted you to have a choice.” His words are slow, coming out with so much gravel it’s almost like he’s chewed and swallowed glass.
“A choice? What? Between full-time and part-time?”
His head tilts, brows drawing closer together. “What? Did you even open the fucking envelope?”
A door across the street closes, drawing my attention. An old man waves from his front porch, coffee cup in hand as he takes a seat in an old rocking chair. He holds the thing up in salute as if giving us permission to continue in the front yard with the drama. We’re a damn spectacle, and I hate that my world is being rocked with a damn audience.
“Do you want to come inside?”
Not particularly, but I don’t want all of this to unfold for the entire street to bear witness to either.
Without a word, I climb the steps and follow him inside.
The entire thing is gutted down to the studs. As I follow him deeper, I realize an entire wall is missing, opening up the room so the living area can be seen from the kitchen. There are no cabinets, no countertops, no sink.