Page 16 of Inevitable Inheritance

He was right, but at that moment an irritating beeping sounded in the room. Derrick reflexively looked at his phone, but Taylor had recognized the beep as her text message. Her phone was on the bedside table. It was antiquated compared to Derrick’s. It had only been for emergencies in the beginning, just a convenience store phone. As she had given the number out and started getting texts, she had realized it wasn’t designed for multiple text messages, so she had told people to call her instead, but she still got the occasional text.

She walked over to her phone, flipped it open, and retrieved the text. It was a lengthy process compared to the more popular devices. It was amazing how fast technology changed.

She heard Derrick mutter something like “They still make those?” and she sliced her eyes back to him.

“Yeah, they do, because people in the real world don’t have the unlimited funds for some luxuries, Prince Derrick. And this let me be untraceable. I didn’t sign up for a plan,” she replied sardonically as she looked down at her message and stiffened.

Where r u? They said u quit. R u OK?

It’s Ben. Oh man, Ben.She had lost him, lost it all. Lost the freedom and the anonymity. Taylor closed her eyes at the thought that she was back to bubble world. Back to living under a microscope.

“Who is it?” Derrick asked softly. But Taylor didn’t answer him, because she doesn’t have to, and because she was too busy planning her pity party, thank you very much. She was so busy picking out the balloons, she didn’t notice as Derrick sidled up and read over her shoulder. What brought her back was him grabbing her phone away from her. When she spun to face him, Taylor was surprised to find Derrick angry, very angry. His face was red, and he had a death grip on her phone.

“Derrick, give me my phone,” she was not intimidated by his behavior. He could take his spoiled-brat temper tantrum elsewhere.

“No,” he said, tight-lipped, nostrils flaring.

What was his problem? “It wasn’t a request,” Taylor seethed back at him. “Give me my phone!” Taylor shouted.

“He isn’t part of you anymore, you can’t—”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Derrick. I have had enough of all that fucking idiocy! Give me my phone!”

“He’s not good enough for you, I know—”

“You don’t know anything!”

“I know you! And he,” Derrick said, shaking the phone in her direction, “he isn’t good enough.”

“You don’t know me, Derrick,” Taylor said tensely.

“I know you—”

“No, you don’t. You just don’t get me,” she said mockingly. She dug deep and brought up that pivotal part of their past in just one statement.

Derrick’s eyes lit at the words, and Taylor knew he made the connection to the insult she was throwing.

And it set Derrick off.

A cracking noise filled the room, and Taylor looked down to see her phone shattering into pieces in Derrick’s fist, chunks falling to the ground. Suddenly Derrick dropped the rest onto the floor and pounded the thing under his foot.

Taylor looked down, absolutely stunned, her mouth hanging open. Derrick had always been kind of mellow, and she had really only seen him angry once. But his outburst just now had been born of more than anger. He had just raged over her last connection to her previous life. Her big lie, as he had pointed out.

His reaction left Taylor lost. Yeah she had been through a lot in the last eighteen hours, but she thought she knew Derrick. This behavior, so unlike him, made her question everything. Was this how he handled things now? Had he traded the partying and booze for aggressive behavior?I really don’t know him, Taylor thought,I really don’t know anything anymore. She looked at Derrick, and he seemed almost as shocked by his behavior as she was.

A tear made its way down Taylor’s cheek, and Derrick reached out to wipe it away. Taylor sidestepped him. “Give me clothes,” she said, looking at the floor.

“Taylor, I’m sorry. I—”

“Derrick, give me clothes,” she repeated. There was another moment of hesitation, and then Derrick walked through a door and returned with a Louis Vuitton luggage bag. He held the strap out toward Taylor, and she snatched it from him, never looking up. “Where is the guest room?”

“Taylor, get ready in—” Derrick’s voice was pleading, but Taylor cut him off.

“Where is the guest room?”

Derrick sighed. Defeated, he answered, “There are three down the hall. Take your pick.”

Taylor marched down the hall, finding the room farthest away from him, and slammed the door. She walked straight into the bathroom, turned on the water in the white marble open shower, sat on the edge of the soaker tub, and started to sob.

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