Page 14 of After Midnight

When she laughed and swayed on her feet, I realized she was drunk. “They’ll just haul you off! No one would believe your word over mine.”

“If you touch me again, we’ll find out,” I said without flinching. Only after I put my back to her to gather the bowls on the counter did I discretely fish my phone out of my pocket and hit the record button. Knowing Margarette traveled in influential circles, I had to hedge my bets where I could.

I struggled to maintain my composure and felt her gaze bore into me as I began shoving the bowls in the dishwasher harder than necessary.

“You think just because you turned twenty-one, you can stand up to me and take allmymoney. Well, you’re wrong. I’ve still got your sisters to raise, so that money is mine.”

I flashed hot, angry that she would bring up my sisters, let alone imply she was the person raising them. We all knew Margarette was only here to bleed as much of our money as she could, but I didn’t know what to make of this line of conversation. She’d never talked about the trust funds so directly, not even when she stopped receiving stipends from mine upon my last birthday.

I raised a questioning eyebrow at her, curious to see where her illogical, drunken thinking was headed.

“Don’t act like you haven’t been going behind my back, talking to that traitorous piece of trash attorney and plotting against me. Like you’ll be able to survive without me anyway,” she spat out.

Where had all this come from? The mad glint in her eyes was starting to scare me but I refused to show any emotion other than annoyance. “You aren’t making any sense, Margarette,” Isaid calmly. “I haven’t spoken to anyone about my trust fund, not since…”

I paused, then let it drop, knowing nothing would send her into a rage faster than mentioning my fathers. Instinctively, I knew if she figured out Dad had explained my trust fund to me after Papa died, this conversationwouldturn into an event involving cops and maybe even paramedics.

She stared at me, her alcohol-soaked brain clearly trying to decide which part of that statement to attack first.

“It’smymoney,” she finally said. “I earned it by taking you three brats on, and I’m going to fight you for what’s rightfully mine.”

She stuck her nose in the air and closed her eyes, apparently in an effort to look regal, then turned on her heel and walked straight into the kitchen table. She snapped her head around to see if I had noticed. I knew better than to react, so I’d already refocused my attention on starting the dishwasher, even though I was dying of laughter inside.

She righted herself without a word and left the kitchen, presumably heading to her bedroom. As uncomfortable as it’d made me, I was glad the confrontation hadn’t spun out of control. I’d half expected her to carry on shouting and screaming until she woke the girls, which would have made me seriously mad, but lady luck must’ve been smiling on me tonight.

Calming myself down, I stopped the audio recording on my phone, then finished cleaning the kitchen and living room. Not because of Margarette’s orders but because I didn’t want Miss Rita to come in the next day to a mess. With everything set to rights, I locked the doors, turned out all the lights, and went up to my room.

I’d learned long ago never to use a home computer for anything I didn’t want Margarette to see. She she’d once seized my laptop under the flimsy excuse of it needing maintenance,so I now only used my phone for such things. Flopping onto my bed, I signed into my account at the bank and checked the information about my trust.

Margarette had thrown ice on a hot flame with her declaration about going after my trust fund. Could she actually fight me for it? That possibility, however remote, worried me. I needed to know how secure my money was at this point.

Before Dad married Margarette, he’d given me access to his accounts. I think somewhere deep down, he knew after Papa died that he might not be long for this world either. Luckily, Margarette never knew I had access because even as a teenager, I’d trusted my gut and kept it a secret from her.

I pulled up the trust details and searched to find the stipulations. I’d read them several times after Dad died, not really understanding it all other than that when I turned twenty-one, the money was mine to do with as I chose. Still, the legal aspects of it were confusing.

I read them this time with much clearer eyes. When I’d finished, I sat back and sighed with relief. “It looks pretty ironclad to me,” I said, as if saying the words aloud offered more reassurance. Then I pulled up the contact details for the attorney who’d handled my father’s accounts.

If Margarette was planning to war with me on this, I had to make haste to bolster up my defenses. So, I sent the attorney an email, requesting a meeting with him as soon as possible.

Having done all I could do tonight, I rolled over and stared at the wall. What would happen if things got really nasty between me and Margarette? Would she kick me out? Deny me access to seeing and caring for the girls? As their legal guardian, she could. And if she somehow retained control over my trust fund…

I shook my head, snapping my mind out this trainwreck route to worry and despair. I needed to maintain a clear head and waituntil I heard back from the attorney before I went staring down worst-case scenarios.

I set my phone on the nightstand and turned out the lamp. It was earlier than I usually went to bed, but I felt drained. Even so, I tossed and turned, my concern and anger ramping up as my mind latched onto Margarette’s threat.

Trying to redirect my thoughts to something positive, like how well the girls were doing in school and how happy they generally seemed, did nothing to derail my thoughts… not until Dillon entered my mind’s eye. So much had transpired in the handful of hours since he’d left that it felt like our first date had taken place ages ago. That didn’t stop warmth from spreading through me at the memory, though. His reenactingThe Princess Bridewith the girls. Patiently listening to me read them a bedtime story. Leaning in to kiss me on the couch.

Dillon was exactly my type. Tall, fit but not overly muscular, with strong arms to wrap around me, and deep blue eyes I could get lost in. Sort of geeky, with a lot of spunk laced with a touch of arrogance. His being naturally funny was incredibly attractive too. My life had been nothing but serious, often too serious, to be honest. Having a partner who made me laugh would be a blessing.

I sighed. “Wrong place, wrong time,” I said quietly, my overthinking brain reminding me I just wasn’t ready for a relationship. Certainly not with a man as confident and self-assured as Dillon, either. I had my hands full raising the girls and dealing with our entitled evil queen of a stepmother.

Despite that, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander to what his kiss would’ve felt like. Would he have kept it sweet or gone deeper, stroking my tongue with his? Would he have gently cradled the back of my head in his hands, or snaked his strong arms around me in a possessive hold? My breath caught just thinking about the possibilities.

At some point, I fell asleep and dreamed of the sexy comedian and his warm, sensual kisses.

***

The next morning, I woke up before my alarm and stumbled down to the kitchen to turn the coffee pot on and prepare breakfast for the girls. I usually only had time to pour them cereal, but since I’d woken up early, I thought pancakes were in order. I was in an unusually cheerful mood, which I solely credited my night of lustful dreams.

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