And though I was a man who didn’t feel much of anything—not hate or like—I wouldn’t deny I fucking hated Monica Quinn for what she’d done to her daughter.
“She’ll hate you when she finds out what you’re after,” Monica said when I turned toward the door.
“Maybe. But it sure as shit beats her hating you for the same thing.”
A very unladylike snort sounded behind me, making me smile.
I reached the front door at the same time Laikyn was coming down the stairs. She had changed into jeans and a chest-hugging T-shirt and pulled her long hair back into a ponytail. She had a large duffel bag on one shoulder and an even larger portfolio case dangling from her other hand.
I reached for the case to relieve her of the weight, then took the duffel bag. “Say goodbye to your mother. I’ll be in the car.”
I walked out to put the bags in the trunk, wondering what Monica intended to tell Laikyn. I doubted it would be the truth because then she would have to cop to a lot of other things. Things her daughter likely wouldn’t forgive her for. And everyone knew Monica Quinn didn’t do well when people didn’t like her.
Twenty minutes later, with Laikyn sitting in the passenger seat of my Challenger, I was driving west on Sunset Blvd toward my house. It was just under six miles from one house to the other, and due to the early hour, the traffic was light.
“Nice car,” she said, skimming the interior. “Is it new?”
I cocked an eyebrow, amused that she was trying to make small talk.
“Smells new. Better than the perfume you’re wearing.”
“I’m not wearing perfume.”
“Tell that to your neck.”
Fuck. That chick had been heavy-handed with the scent, but I’d thought nothing of it.
“This afternoon, we’ll get it done,” I told her when we were a few minutes from my front door.
“It?” She looked at me. “I assume you mean the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Has anyone ever told you how romantic you are?”
I fought the urge to grin because there wasn’t any fear in this woman’s voice. She was giving me shit while coming to terms with her circumstances. I admired that about her. Hell, I admired a lot of things about this woman, things I would never lay claim to.
She didn’t look at me when she asked, “Do you know a judge or something?”
“Or something.”
“What about the marriage license?”
“He’ll take care of that, too.”
I flipped the blinker to turn into my neighborhood while Laikyn looked out the window. I could tell she was curious about where I lived, but she didn’t ask questions. Not when I pulled into the short driveway and up to my house. Not when the garage door opened so I could pull the car inside. She looked around, silently observing.
“Is that a Harley Softail?”
“It is.”
“Nice.”
Two minutes later, the garage door was closing behind us. I turned off the engine and got out, grabbing her things from the trunk.
“Where do I sleep?”
“Pick a room.”
