There are three things I hate, and Blair Fitzpatrick takes the top fucking spot.
I’d rather be sentenced to a never-ending Promethean cycle of packing and unpacking than live across the hall fromher.
Grabbing my smirking brother by the arm, I yank him inside the condo hard enough that he stumbles over his feet and swears at me, catching both his balance and the case slipping from his grip just in time.
Ignoring hiscalm the fuck down, I slam the door shut, ticking like a bomb about to go off.
“Guess who’s moving in across the hall as we speak?” Colt summons everyone’s attention. “Cody’s favorite person.” He wiggles his eyebrows, the sarcasm almost dripping from his voice.
“Blair?” Conor immediately supplies, well-versed in myfavoritepeople. “No way.”
“Yesway.”
“Shut up,” I snap, grabbing my phone. “I’ve got a bone to pick with Logan. You’d think he’d give me a heads-up.”
“Logan doesn’t deal with sales, Cody,” Colt says. “What will calling him do? You already bought this place, bro. It’s done.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose as reality settles in.
Fuck. My. Life.
TWO
Blair
“WHAT ARE THE CHANCES?” I snap at Brandon, who’s chuckling at my oh-so-amusing misery on the other end of the line.
“Actually, pretty high if you think about it. His brother built that place, Blair, and you knew Cody was moving out of Nico’s, right? I did tell you. I’m sure I did.”
“No, you didn’t.” I pat a mover on the shoulder, before showing him where to leave the boxes. “Even if I knew, I would’ve expected he’d buy a mansion like Nico’s, not a condo.”
“The triplets are loaded, but notthatloaded. Nico’s house is worth like, I don’t know... twenty-five million or something.”
I slump onto the sofa, using my hands to shield my eyes from the space quickly filling with furniture and boxes.
The instruction to carry everything back outside and reload the van sits unspoken on the tip of my tongue.
“He’ll be growling at me any chance he gets,” I whine. “I don’t want to live here.”
“Babe, you’re overreacting. Cody’s cool.”
“Cody hates me.”
I don’t know what’s worse. Staying here with the man who hates me more than I hate myself, or running straight back to my money-obsessed father.
Home is worse, I decide, swallowing hard. Cody can bark, growl, and glare all he wants, but I can bark, growl, and glare right back. There’s balance. Equal distribution of power. Something entirely absent in any dealings with my father.
“You have a point,” Brandon drawls in amusement. “But you know he won’t attack unprovoked. That’s more your style.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, his words striking a nerve.
He’s one hundred percent correct, but I’ve been working on myself for a long time now... alone.
Which—according to my therapist—is why I hadn’t made substantial progress until I started sessions with her. Now, with her help, I’m emerging out of the darkness, gradually finding ways to feel in control without projecting my hurt onto others.
“I recall you saying I’m not such a bitch these days.”
“Two points to you, babe. Still, attacking unprovoked is much more your style than Cody’s.” He pauses, then chuckles when I groan. “What? You’re backing down on yourcall it as you see itrequest?”
