Page 3 of Stone Rules

His head bobs up and down and his lips form a thin line. Then he sighs like he’s about to tell me something I don’t want to hear. “It was your father. He contacted the lawyer who drew up their wills all those years ago. And that lawyer found out that I was assigned to handle her estate.”

“Of course he did.” Anger seethes in my bones, crawling up my spine like rungs of a ladder. “He wouldn’t want to miss his chance to get whatever money she didn’t snort up her nose. Guess he shouldn’t have divorced her if he wanted to be a gold digger.”

“You misunderstand, Ms. Tate . . . er, Charlie.” He rises out of his chair and comes around his desk, perching himself against the front side of it, his eyes softening so that he looks less lawyerly and more fatherly. “He wanted to make sure you were taken care of. He didn’t want you to know and I wouldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t asked. But I’m all about transparency.”

When I don’t respond, he continues. “He was at the funeral, you know. He kept his distance so he wouldn’t cause a scene. He understands you’re upset with him. For what it’s worth, he seemed genuinely sorry for whatever happened between you.”

“Sorry?” There’s that worthless word again. “Well, Mr. Slater, my father can take his apologies and shove them up his ass—the same place his balls lived during my childhood.”

His mouth turns upward into something that resembles a grin and I realize what I hadn’t before. His greying hair and lined forehead speak to his age, but now that I see him standing, out from behind his desk, I can see he’s kept himself up nicely. He’s quite handsome. Distinguished-looking. And from the looks of his office—very well off.

You don’t need to be taken care of, Charlie. Not anymore.

I continue my perusal of his tall body, my eyes halting when they fall just below the waist of his tailor-made Armani suit. He shifts uncomfortably and my eyes snap up to his to see that he didn’t fail to notice the fact that I was mentally undressing him.

He looks at me as if he’s scolding a child. “I’m twice your age.”

“That never bothered any of the others.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “I’m married, Ms. Tate.”

“Charlie,” I remind him, giving him my bestfuck-meeyes. “And that never bothered any of the others either.”

He forcefully pushes off his desk and strides over to me. He grabs my shoulders and I’m certain he’s going in for a kiss when instead, he turns me around, directing me towards the door. “I’ll call you when the order comes through. Until then, this is New York City so you might want to be a little more careful whom you proposition.”

Although my ego has taken a bruising, I laugh off his rejection. “Old habits die hard I guess.”

“Maybe it’s time to find new habits, Charlie. You know, start fresh?”

Chapter Two

My head is still spinning as Piper and I take the elevator up to the fourteenth floor of the modest Manhattan building that houses the one-bedroom apartment my mom bought when she moved to the city. As horrible as she was, at least she kept us in Maple Creek after my dad left. If it weren’t for that, I’m not sure what would have happened.

Yes, I am. I wouldn’t be here. Piper and her family saved me. She kept me from ending up exactly like my mom. Drugs were everywhere. Lying around our house like an old pair of socks. It would have been so easy for me to just end it. I thought about it a lot back then. And when I was sixteen; when I was at my breaking point and was a handful of pills away from escaping my nightmare, Piper entered her own personal hell. She needed me. And I wasn’t about to leave her, not even to escape my own pain.

So, ironically, it was Piper’s misery that saved my life.

I turn to her, wanting to tell her. But I can’t. I could never validate her horrific experiences that way.

“What?” she asks. The inky-black tips of her hair skate around her collarbone as her head shakes back and forth. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“Nope. I’m just glad you’re here with me, that’s all.”

The elevator doors open to let a woman and her child out. When they close, I find myself staring at my mother in the shiny chrome finish. I’ve often thought of cutting my long wavy red hair, or maybe dyeing it. But I refuse to give my mother the satisfaction. And I refuse to think of the horrible day that started it all.

Most kids probably remember the way their mom kissed a finger when they pinched it in a drawer. Or maybe they remember the way she rubbed their back when they were sick. Not me. The only thing I remember when I look in the mirror is my mother complaining about how I ruined her life. I can almost see her lips moving in my reflection.‘From the minute your dad knocked me up, you sucked the life right out of me.’

“Ready?” Piper startles me and I realize the doors have opened and she’s holding them, waiting for me to exit ahead of her.

We pass by a few other apartments before reaching my mother’s front door. Apartments that have welcome mats, flower pots, or nameplates. But her front door is exactly how I’d expected it to be. Empty and cold. Just like she was.

I use the key the manager gave me, and the lock clicks open. The first thing that hits me when we cross the threshold is an overwhelming stench of flowers. It’s like we walked into a damn garden show, minus the live greenery. The next thing I notice is the obvious absence of a couch. The couch she died on. The couch that was burned by the biohazard company the Mitchells hired to sanitize the place. I wish they wouldn’t have spent that kind of money. But I guess it’s better than the alternative; the sickening smell of death.

“Please thank your parents for having the place cleaned up,” I say.

Her green eyes smile at my hazel ones. “Thank them yourself. They’ve offered you a room at their house on Long Island if you want it.” She laughs. “Of course, they’ll have to fight me for you. You could stay with Mason and me. Hailey would love to have anotherplaymatearound.” She raises an accusing brow.

“Playmate?” I shrug an innocent shoulder.

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