Page 39 of Inevitable Inheritance

But when seven o’clock came, Derrick did not.

Fifteen minutes, half an hour, and then two hours passed, and still there was no Derrick. She sat in the living room, on the stairs, and finally in the kitchen waiting, hoping he was maybe going to come in one of the alternate entries, but he never did.

At 9:30, Taylor got up from the table. “Taylor, are you okay?” her mom asked softly.

Taylor just nodded and kept walking.

Her mom came up behind her and wrapped her arms around her, “I’m sorry, Taylor,” she whispered in her ear.

Silent tears fell down Taylor’s face.

“Maybe he was busy. I can call?” her mother offered. She had offered it since he was fifteen minutes late, but Taylor had refused. She shook her head again.

“Okay,” Elizabeth said and released her. “Get some rest.”

Taylor nodded and walked to her room. When she got there she fell onto her bed, grabbed her pillow, and cried. She could not believe he had done it to her again. It felt worse than it had all those years ago, or maybe that was just how bad it felt to have your heart ripped open a second time by the same person.

When Taylor ran out of tears, she looked at the clock and saw it was almost ten o’clock. She should probably go to sleep and leave this horrific day behind her. The silence in her room wasn’t helping her focus her thoughts elsewhere, so on her way to her closet she turned the TV on. Sad to say she would rather listen to the opening lineup of depressing fires, wars, and gun battles in the local region than her own internal beat-up session.

“And bad-boy billionaire Derrick Fletcher is at it again,” came the anchorwoman’s dramatic tone. Taylor ran from her closet to watch the screen. “These photos show the Fletcher-enterprise heir spending the evening in a bar and club and then taking over a tattoo parlor with an entourage.”

Pictures flashed across the TV. Taylor stood frozen, horrified to see Derrick taking shots while girls hung on his arm. Then the scene cut to Derrick in a reclining chair having a tattoo drawn, and then a needle start inking the tattoo in as he lay there with a bottle of booze to his lips.

“This appearance of course comes the day after his mother, Delia Fletcher, lost her battle with cancer,” the anchorwoman added as the slideshow of Derrick came to an end. “Fletcher reps stated they had no comment when questioned about the young Fletcher’s behavior.”

Taylor shut the TV off, but it was too late. Her body boiled with anger. Derrick had blown her off to get drunk and tattooed. His words had obviously meant nothing, and he was just a liar, saying whatever he had to at the time.

Taylor walked over to her desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a framed picture of her and Derrick she had put away years before. It was a candid shot of them that Derrick had given her as a gift. She undid the back, slid the picture out, and ripped it in tiny pieces. Then she threw them and the frame away in the bathroom trashcan. On her way out of the room, she looked at herself in the mirror.

“Never again,” she whispered to herself, vowing right there and then to keep Derrick out of her life.

Chapter Eight

Taylor wokefrom her trip down memory lane and found the blanket that she was wrapped in was heavy, inferno warm, but she was so comforted by it she didn’t dare move. She breathed in the scent that was attached to it, which was delicious and spicy and … Taylor sighed at her own ridiculousness and slighted one eye open to confirm that her blanket was in fact Derrick.

She wanted to be mad that he was holding her, especially after having that dream, which reminded her why she should be mad, but she had promised him that she was moving forward, so she wouldn’t get mad about something so trivial. Well thatandthe fact that she was just as wrapped around him as he was around her. Taylor’s hand was fisted into Derrick’s T-shirt, and her head was planted on his shoulder. Taylor rolled her head back and took him in. He was so handsome and relaxed in sleep; she could still look at him all day. Really he was just as hot awake, so if she was honest she could stare at him all the time.

Taylor saw they were in his bedroom, and she remembered that last time they had been in here, after his mother died, when he had begged her to come and see him in his room. It was definitely neater now, and there were fewer personalized items, but it was still the same place.

Taylor figured a shower would be the first step in her new motto of “move forward” for this new day. That would help her leave the past this room reminded her of in the drain. She slid one of her legs cautiously from the cage of Derrick’s legs and released his shirt at the same time.

Derrick’s response was immediate. He wrapped her tighter to him and clamped his leg down, pinning her leg between his. “No, Tay, don’t go,” he muttered, never opening his eyes, and went back to his even breathing. Taylor could see he was obviously still in dreamland. Taylor lay motionless, and Derrick gradually relaxed his limbs again. “I love you, Tay,” he muttered in his sleep, and Taylor felt her heart race.

Time to get that shower.

This time, Taylor didn’t take her escape slowly. She pulled herself out quickly and walked silently to the bathroom, closing the door. She stripped and got into the ridiculously huge shower when the water was barely warm.

She thought of the book on meditation she had read last year. She really needed to focus right now and not concentrate on how good Derrick’s hands felt on her or how awful it had been to remember the last time she was in his room. So Taylor leaned forward and braced her hands on the shower wall, letting the stream hit her head and run down her back.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

“I was wondering where you had gone,” a voice suddenly said from across the room.

The high-pitched scream Taylor let out echoed over the tiled room.

“Christ, Taylor. Why are you screaming?” Derrick asked, the sound of his voice getting closer.

“Don’t come in here!”

---