Cherished (Corrupted and Cherished Duet Book 2) by Marie Johnston

Author:Marie Johnston [Johnston, Marie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: LE Publishing
Published: 2023-03-19T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8

Holland

I stare at a half-constructed house surrounded by nothing but dirt. The walls are up and covered in plywood and rafters soar over the emptiness underneath. It’s a giant structure. I can’t imagine what it’ll look like when it’s done, but it’ll be spacious and opulent.

The long driveway keeps this property isolated from the surrounding ones. Patrick comes to a stop next to me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. His suit jacket is wrinkled, and the smell of sour wine and expensive cologne emanates off him like a noxious cloud.

Kase and I had to sit in that haze for the drive out here. Patrick insisted we ride together, and as long as Kase was along, I acquiesced.

“Daddy’s meeting us here,” he says, sounding moodier than the previous evening. “He wants to check on the progress.” Patrick shoves a hand through his halfheartedly combed hair. Hungover Patrick definitely lacks charm. He’s broody, like a dark shadow settled over his face to rage for hours.

I want to grab Kase’s hand, but he’s standing a few feet behind me. His presence is enough, but I don’t like being this close to a surly Patrick. The drive out here was full of awkward silence. I had tried making small talk, but he glowered out the window. I couldn’t chat with Kase since I’m not supposed to be fucking my bodyguard in my closet.

And now I have to face MacDonald. I imagine exchanging an eye roll with Kase about the update. It’s almost just as good.

Patrick throws his arms up, and I press my lips together and breathe shallowly. Did he sleep with a whole troupe of showgirls? I can’t imagine that many women have such bad taste.

“Picture this,” he says as old wine fumes off him, “gray with black supports in the corners and going across the decks. Two stories, with stone retaining walls there”—he swings an arm to the left—“and here.” His other arm goes in the opposite direction.

“Sounds lovely,” is all I can think to say instead of It sounds like it’s unoriginal, uninspired, and not at all my preference. Did you know my little eighteen-hundred-square-foot bungalow had more character than one room in this place will ever have? I also don’t see Patrick in a house. Patrick’s been living out of one of his father’s hotels in Chicago with twenty-four-hour room service and housekeeping. That’s more Patrick’s style. This is his dad’s build, just like my clothes were my dad’s purchases—rather the work of the people they hired to do the purchasing and building.

“When will it be done?” I ask.

“Daddy’s trying to move up the completion date to before we’re supposed to get married.” His level look says that we need to think of something before then.

I agree.

“We can walk around inside. I told the crew to knock off for the day.”

As long as he’s the one dealing with his dad, I don’t care if the house is done by the bullshit wedding date. I squint at the house.

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