Runaway Groom by Weston Parker

Author:Weston Parker [Parker, Weston]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BrixBaxter Publishing
Published: 2021-03-23T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

RHETT

The other shoe had to drop sometime. A few days after Felicity and I had gotten caught at the supposed cemetery, it finally happened.

It came in the form of a voicemail. A little light blinking at the top of my phone alerted me to the fact that I had a message when I got out of the shower on Monday morning.

Still toweling the back of my hair as I walked into my room in a pair of sweats—my newfound uniform now that I was practically under house arrest—I caught the sight of the notification light from the corner of my eye. Sighing as I picked it up and unlocked the device, my lips pursed when I saw Jake’s name next to the missed call icon.

I’d been avoiding his calls since my great escape, and my team had been in contact with his on my behalf. They’d been instructed to stonewall the guy, but he must’ve finally decided that he was sick of it. As it was, I’d been expecting him to leave a voicemail—at the very least—for days.

After dropping the damp towel in the hamper, I sat down on the edge of my bed, put the phone on speaker, and held it up to listen to what he had to say. It started much like I thought it would, a couple of minutes straight of him ranting at me that he never should’ve hired me in the first place.

I smirked a little. After everything he’d put me through, it was actually kind of satisfying to hear him all agitated. It was only once he got to the last part of his call that my features knitted into a scowl.

“If you don’t come in to talk to me today, I’m voiding your contract. We’re not paying you another cent if that happens. Today, Rhett. If I haven’t heard from you by close of business, I’m done.”

He hung up without saying another word. Gripping my phone so hard it was a wonder the screen didn’t crack, I tossed it down on the mattress and got up.

That fucking motherfucker.

My fingers curled into fists as I paced the length of the room. His threat wasn’t unexpected, but now that he’d actually made it, I was livid. I’d put up with his shit for months, shit that hadn’t been specified in that contract he was now holding over my head, and now he was pulling this?

While I hadn’t done the show for the money and while I knew most contestants on reality shows didn’t even get paid, it was still low that he was threatening to withhold money I’d earned. I’d worked for it. It didn’t even matter that it wouldn’t break the bank if I didn’t get it. The principle remained the same. He was and already had made hundreds of thousands—at the safest estimate—off the show, and now he wouldn’t pay me for my work if I didn’t cave.

On the other hand, I had walked away. I still didn’t know if they

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