I’d built my business without my father’s help, outside of using the family name, and I could lose it all.
It’s possible I could start from scratch. Legally, I can’t poach my own clients, but I’ve already established myself, and with some luck, I could rebound quickly.
Unfortunately, that would mean taking on reality television clients, which I’d previously tried to avoid. It’s not that I don’t respect their hustle. It’s just not the direction I’d wanted to take my business.
Perhaps Elliot knows our father’s intentions.
Unable to stop myself, I enter his text box.
Samantha:question
Elliot:Don’t think for a second I’m answering it unless you agree to answer mine.
Samantha:And what would that be?
Elliot:What the fuck are you doing aboard the Hunk bus?
I chuckle to myself because I’d thought that either Natasha or Bianca had told him long before now.
At least he doesn’t know about my pregnancy, because if he did, he’d rub it in my face.
Samantha:If you must know, I needed a place to ride out the storm, and I had a friend aboard.
Elliot:Yeah, that friend you’ve been bunking with?
Samantha:I didn’t realize how much you enjoyed gossip. Perhaps you should come work for me instead of our father. Speaking of work, what does dear old dad have planned for my business?
Elliot:What do you mean?
Samantha:Your mother convinced him to offer up part of it to Bianca, but now that your marriage is off, I want to know what his plans are.
Elliot:I think you have your tinfoil hat on a little too tight.
Samantha:Don’t act like your mother hasn’t been salivating over my inheritance since she got with my father.
Elliot:To be honest, I never think of our inheritance, and I don’t think she does either.
Samantha:That’s only because yours is secure!
Elliot:If you want information, you need to agree to a family meeting.
It takes everything I have to control my fury, which includes pocketing my phone and forcing my mind from my family problems.
The bus comes to a halt, and I make my way upstairs, hoping to use the bathroom before the Hunks rouse.
Ew, gross…
I wash a glob of toothpaste down the sink and clean the soap scum from the porcelain. The bathroom needs a good scrubbing, but being pregnant, I can’t risk cleaning it myself. Perhaps at a future stop, I could arrange for a maid service to come aboard.
I put that on my to-do list and exit the bathroom, running straight into Natasha.
Don’t vomit on this woman. Don’t do it. It’s not worth it.
Mustering a smile, I say, “Why, hello, Natasha.”
She steps aside and I exit the bathroom, but I’m not two feet away when she snaps, “Would it kill you to lift a damn finger?”
I whip around, crossing my arms over my chest. “Excuse me?”
