Page 104 of The Situation
Renn: Let me talk to Blakely, but we might want to keep the Royals.
Tate: I don’t want anything. I never liked working anyway.
Bianca:
Jason:
Ripley: I see a lot of potential in the Arrows. Let me get back to you.
Gannon looks at me and holds my gaze. He doesn’t say thank you, but I know he means it.
Gannon: Let me know, Renn and Rip. I’ll get with the attorneys next week and get this process started.
“You’re welcome,” I say, locking my screen and shoving my phone in my pocket. “Now that I’ve solved all of your problems, you can help solve one of mine.”
The anger I’ve battled all night and this morning rears its ugly head.
I grab the collar of my shirt and pull it away from my face. Carys looks toward me with a curious, yet worried look in her eye. She grabs Gannon’s arm as she stands next to him, across the counter from me.
“As you know, I met my future wife,” I say. “No Kelly jokes. Now isn’t the time.”
Gannon holds his hands in front of him. “Not saying a word.”
“Guess who she is.” I pause but can only manage to wait a couple of seconds. “Time’s up. Her name is Aurora Johnson.”
“Who?” Gannon asks.
Carys’s jaw drops. “You’re kidding me.”
“I’m not. I am, in fact, banging your hot stepmommy.”
Gannon’s lip twitches. “Only you, Tate. Only you.”
“I’m … shocked,” Carys says, looking bewildered. “I haven’t talked to her since she called to apologize for how Dad’s birthday dinner went and to tell me she was divorcing him.”
“Nice segue.” I turn to my brother. “Do you know where the motherfucker is?”
“Why?
“General question.”
“That I’m not going to answer as long as you’re looking at me like that.”
I hop off the stool, unable to sit still any longer. My fingers flex to hit something. My skin is too small for my body. Adrenaline courses through me as I think about Aurora’s ex-husband’s hands on her.
“Did you know that your father abused Aurora?” I ask, licking my lips.
Carys’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “No.”
“Did he ever touch you?” Gannon asks, his eyes darkening.
“No,” she says, shaking her head again. “No. Absolutely not.”
My brother and I exchange a look. Between the two of us, Kent Johnson’s days are numbered.
“Apparently, there was a dinner she was making for you, I think. Pot roast? And?—”
“Oh my God. Yes! She had hurt her back somehow. I think she said she fell.”
