women I don’t like—last night, for example. My date was a means to an end. Something to get my mind off this bullshit with my dad and Isla. And when I pay for their time, they can be whatever I want them to be. Hence why I chose a lithe, fair blonde rather than an olive-skinned beauty with dark eyes and curves. That didn’t work out too well for me either, though.
I walk to the front entryway, trying to push back the resentment toward Isla that has grown twofold over the years. For a decade, I’ve told myself that I wouldn’t have done what I did if she hadn’t slept with Asher. That what happened on prom night, wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been hating myself for what I’d done. That it was her who set in motion a series of events that changed all of our lives.
I swallow down the hatred, which tastes like a toxic ball of tar in my throat and ring the front bell.
A stout woman in her fifties wearing a gray-and-white maid’s uniform answers the door. “Garrin Stone, I presume?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m here to see Isla. She’s expecting me.” I put on my most charming smile.
“Come on in. I’ll get her.” I step into what would be referred to as a modest home compared to the Mastersons’ mansion next door. Although Isla was never seen as the poor girl by any means, her family was new money in this city. Her father came from nothing and made a great life for himself and his family. Most would find that admirable, but Cherry Creek sees it as lucky.
I’ve never been in the Flores house before, though I’ve seen it from the outside. Where my family home is austere and lifeless, this house is the opposite. Rich woods and colorful art fill the sitting rooms on either side of me, and photographs of the Flores family cover the tops of the furniture. The floor is stone, but the gathering areas are all adorned with expensive area rugs that make the space feel comfortable and welcoming. Just another sign that they’re new money. They don’t want people to be intimidated when they step into their mansion.
“Why don’t you wait in the library and I’ll send her down to you?” the housekeeper says. She leads me through the large foyer with oversized dark iron wall sconces into a room further back in the house on the left.
Huge ornate double doors sit open, and inside is a two-story library filled with books and a rolling ladder on each side. I step inside and soak in the space, envisioning a teenage Isla doing her homework in here. She had great grades. One of the reasons I forced Devon Pierce to be lab partners with Neha Patel was so I could slide in as Isla’s lab partner senior year. I needed the grade that I knew Isla could get me, and she succeeded. If only she hadn’t been so damn irresistible with her innocent na?ve ways when I flirted with her. Then maybe I wouldn’t have spent the last decade hating myself.
“She’ll be along shortly,” the woman says before turning to leave.
I nod and walk to the other side of the room to check out the shelves. I’m not a big reader myself, unless you count drilling reports and summaries for the board.
There are an array of classics and rather than being pristine like they’re new, they’re weathered and worn like they’ve been read a dozen or more times. I run my finger along the spine of Gone With The Wind, plucking it out from among the others, vaguely remembering her rambling on about it senior year.
“That’s one of my favorites.”
I spin at the sound of her voice, and the book drops at my feet. She’s dressed casually today, in a pair of fitted dark jeans and a cream sweater that hangs off one shoulder. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun with a few dark tendrils hanging loose. It’s a contrast to the business attire she’s wearing every other time I’ve seen her since her return. The woman in front of me reminds me a lot of the girl I knew back in high school and I can feel myself soften toward her—and that won’t work for me if I want to continue to vilify her in my head. And I need to do that. If she’s not the villain, then that means I