Page 8 of Ruthless Protector

If I didn’t come up with some cash for him, he’d make things difficult for me and Tilly. He still had rights. I was Tilly’s guardian, but as her father, he could request visitation, or God, try to take her away from me.

The bastard had decided using his own daughter to get what he wanted was something he was more than okay with. He hadn’t even asked how she was. How she was coping after losing her mother and father all at once. Nothing.

I hated him.

I hated him with everything in me. The man was like a disease, infecting everything he touched. He didn’t care about Tilly and he hadn’t cared about Rebecca. Not really. He’d taken from my sister, until she was nothing but an empty shell, then he’d sucked the life right out of her.

I wanted him gone, I just had to figure out a way to make that happen.

How are you going to get out of this mess?

First, and most urgent, was making sure we kept the roof over our heads. This house had an excellent security system. This was the safest place for my niece. I slid off the couch carefully and walked as soundlessly as I could to the kitchen. I needed to talk to my landlord. It had been a week since he’d shown up here, carried Tilly to bed, and cleaned up my scrapes. The last thing I wanted was to talk to him again so soon. Besides some water heater issues I’d had when I first moved in, I’d hardly seen him. I preferred it that way. The guy asked too many questions.

Pulling my phone from the back pocket of my jeans, I ignored the weird flutter I got just from looking at his name, gritted my teeth, and hit the call button.

It went straight to voicemail.

I hated leaving messages, loathed it, and almost always screwed them up and said something utterly ridiculous. This was too important to screw up. Ending the call, I rummaged around in my purse and pulled his business card from my wallet. I didn’t want to leave this another night. He was expecting his rent money tomorrow. If I didn’t tell him it’d be late, he might come back to the house, and I wanted to avoid any more face time with that man if I could.

Quickly tapping out the number on the card, before I chickened out, I put my phone to my ear. It rang a few times, then a woman’s voice greeted me. “The King Agency, Lulu speaking.”

“Um hi…yeah, I was wondering if I could speak to Jude Wayland, please?” My butterflies intensified, flapping their tiny fucking wings against my ribs.

“He’s out of the office right now, can I give him a message?”

I didn’t really have any other choice, so I rattled off my name and number, and asked her to get him to call me back.

“Willa?” the woman said, repeating my name, like she somehow knew me, or knew of me.

“Yeah,” I said, sharper than I’d intended.

“Right, okay,” the woman said urgently. “You hang tight, I’ll see what I can do. Give me five.” Then she hung up.

I pulled the phone from my ear and stared down at it. What the hell was that? I shoved my phone back in my pocket and went back to the living room to check on Tilly. She was still asleep.

God, my life, it was nothing like I’d planned, didn’t resemble anything I’d imagined for myself. Before Rebecca had died, I’d worked at a salon cutting hair. I was good at it, too. It was something I’d wanted to do since I was a little kid. I’d assumed marriage to Eric was next for me, maybe my own salon one day. I tucked my pink hair behind my ear. It was all I had left of that old life, and once the boxes of dye I’d bought on sale months ago ran out, that would be gone, too.

A salon was out of the question now, but I had Tilly, and being everything she needed was all that mattered.

I shook my head, shoving the useless memories out of my mind, and headed to the kitchen, taking the opportunity to get a light dinner started, just in case she was hungry when she woke.

I’d started taking vegetables out of the fridge when my phone vibrated. I quickly checked it.

Landlord flashed on the screen.

Okay, that was quick. “Hello…um, Jude.”

“Talk to me,” he bit out.

He sounded impatient and kind of angry. Shit, great timing, Willa.

I cleared my throat. “Right…well, this month’s rent, it’s um…” Spit it out. “It’s going to be a little late.”

Silence.

Shit, he wasn’t happy.

“Jude…I mean, Mr. Wayland…”