Kennedy scoffs. “Not sure where you’re doing your research. We’re better than ‘well’. We’re doing amazing. The profits since we launched are unprecedented.”
“Good,” I hum. “I’m here to invoke clause 7.3.”
Color drains from his face, and damn if that isn’t satisfying. Poor shit looks like the rug’s been pulled out from under him. Kinda how I felt when I walked in on him ten months ago, fucking my fiancée on this exact bar, somewhere very near where I’m sitting right now.
“That clause—” he begins bitterly, but I cut him off.
“That clause was added to the contracts to protect my investment. You seem to have already forgotten my visit a fewmonths ago. When my lawyer informed me that you andthat bitchintentionally filed outdated paperwork to screw me over.”
It’s strange— given how quick to anger and rage I’ve been the last few months— I feel nothing but deadly calm staring at Kennedy. It’s morbidly satisfying.
Face flushed, he stammers, “You don’t have a leg to stand on. You haven’t been around, you don’t know the players in this game. And you’re not walking away with a third of our profits!” He’s shouting by the end, pointing his finger in my face, causing customers to glance our way.
“Might want to find a better legal team, you miserable piece of shit,” I advise, pushing away from the bar and turning to leave.
“You’re not getting fuck-all from us, Miller!” he shouts after me as I walk out of the bar.
A crisp fall wind greets me as I take a moment to stare at the incredible scenery around me. For the first time this year, I feel a heavy weight begin to lift. When I win this legal battle, it’ll be the last I ever have to deal with these pieces-of-shit human beings ever again. It’s stunning and fresh as hell out here, but I’m never coming back to Kentucky. Not ever.
My future isn’t here.
When I win this, I’ll walk away with a third of $100k— my share of their “unprecedented” fucking profits. That, combined with the positive cashflow at the bookstore?
I can’t wait to get back to Prairie Ridge and put my plans into motion.
And I can’t fucking wait to start the rest of my life.
NINETEEN
october
PENELOPE
“Halloween is only two weeks away,”I comment from my spot at the register. Dom is in the center of the store, deep in thought while staring at a tablet in his hands. No response.
It’s been a few weeks since he returned from Kentucky, and had I been hoping for answers or comfort upon his return, I would be sorely disappointed. Dominic simply showed up to the store one day, acting like the last 9 months didn’t happen. I was in the middle of a conversation with a customer and he didn’t even glance my way as he walked in. He did greet Grace at the register with some playful banter, which didn’t make me annoyed or jealous at all. I didn’t catch a break from customers for another hour and then I had to seek HIM out, where he was hiding in the back room, running finances on the computer.
When Dom noticed me standing there, he gave me a warm, cozy smile that I suspect he saves just for me. He jumped up and wrapped me in his arms, stroking my hair and whispering how much he missed me. It was a beautiful moment… but did thatreally make up for him leaving? Or coming back and ignoring me for an hour?
It’s ten minutes away from closing time and we haven’t had customers in twenty minutes. Dom turns slowly in his spot, tilting his head this way and that as he scrutinizes god knows what.
“I bought us a couple’s Halloween costume,” I lie, trying to get his attention. Still, no acknowledgement. Sighing heavily, I continue. “You’ll be Jack the Ripper and I’ll be your horrifically bludgeoned, bloody victim.”
Dom pauses and glances at me with a smirk on his handsome face. “Sounds disgusting.”
“Ah, so he is conscious!” Slapping the counter playfully, I step around and walk toward him. Quickly, Dom locks the tablet and holds it as his side. He plays it off as he moves in to embrace me, planting a kiss on my forehead, but my gut is beyond suspicious. “What have you been working on?”
He shrugs. “Just taking notes on a few things.” It’s been his standard response since he returned and I’ve given up prying for more information. If he wanted to share with me, he would.
“Of course,” I mumble as I step away. “I’m gonna lock the door and count the drawer. Doubt anyone will be running in the last five minutes with this weather.” A long, loud rumble of thunder emphasizes my point.
Dom just nods and turns back to his tablet.
As I go about closing the store, I can’t shake the hopeless, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. My heart is convinced that, despite how well the store has been doing, Dominic is gearing up to sell. When Gloria first passed, Dom asked for my support as he navigated all the legal issues and all sorts of paperwork Gloria had stored regarding the store. But now that he’s back, he hasn’t discussed the store with me at all beyond scheduling and deliveries.
And if he does sell the store, what does that mean for us? Will he stay in Prairie Ridge? Will he keep living with me? Sleeping on my couch?
My thoughts continue to spiral and swirl, worse than they did while he was gone. At least when he was away, I told myself when he came home, he’d tell me everything. But now he’s back and I have no answers; we feel farther apart than ever.
