Page 16 of Never Fall for an Angel

This is the fourth time Savannah has had this same conversation with her mother this month.

The unfortunate part?

Monica doesn’t even remember. She’s usually halfway through a bottle of wine by this time of the night. Tonight is no exception.

“Because you chose to dance,” Monica says, her words slurring as she takes another sip of the dark berry wine in her glass. “So, now, you’ll be a dancer.”

I’m supposed to be dropping Savannah off at the dance studio in half an hour, but judging by the current conversation, I’m guessing she’ll ask me to cover for her again while she sees that little shit, Spike.

Spike is everything you don’t want your daughter dating, complete with a spiked collar—the irony is fucking stupid. I don’t believe Savannah’s actually interested in him, though. If anything, she found the shittiest man she could, just to piss Monica off.

It definitely worked.

“So I’m stuck with it for the rest of my life?” Savannah grits, cheeks burning brightly. “It’s exhausting.”

“Hard work never hurt anyone.”

“Then you do it,” Savannah challenges, and Monica just fixes her with a bored scowl.

“The answer is final, Savannah.”

“What about the apartment you said I could get?”

“When you’re ready,” Monica waves a hand, dismissing her.

“I’m ready now.”

“Are you still sneaking off to see that little trollop? Spam, or whatever his name is?”

“His name is Spike.”

His name is stupid.’

My phone buzzes in my pocket when they launch into the top five reasons why Spike is the biggest dumbass I’ve ever met. I pull it out, gaze narrowing at the name on the screen.

Stepping out of the kitchen, I lift it to my ear.

“Mila.”

It’s been three months since I brought her home and three months of pure fucking torture. She’s fucking everywhere, and I can’t get her out of my head.

What makes it worse is Monica has convinced her to see that little prick friend of Drew’s, Corbin. The kid pisses me off. From the way he touches her to the way he looks at her. Honestly, his being in her presence is bad enough.

A spoiled rich kid—Daddy’s money—who’s never been told no a day in his life. What she fucking sees in him, I’ll never know.

Not that I’m fucking bitter or anything.

He can have her. I can’t. Ironic, isn’t it?

My gaze goes to the family photo painted above the mantel. Mila’s light gray gaze stares back at me, a smile on her face. There’s a sniffle on the other end of the line, and I pause.

She’s crying.

“Where are you?”

“Umm . . .” she breathes, her voice shaky. I step outside into the night and go straight to the Bentley, idling in the drive, waiting for Savannah.

Looks like she’ll be getting her wish, after all.

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