Page 7 of Forget That Guy
“Holly then.” He nodded once as if committing it to memory. “I’m sorry this didn’t go the way you expected it. I told yourfather that he needed to talk to you about this, and I’m sorry that you were blindsided with it.”
I swallowed hard.
“It’s okay.”
And it was.
It wasn’t his fault that my dad had been bamboozled by the big, bad motorcycle club president.
Was that what he was doing this entire time? Worming his way into my dad’s life so he could buy his land?
I knew that he wanted the water rights to it.
He’d been paying a leasing fee for those since I was around sixteen.
Had he somehow manipulated my father into giving him the land instead of letting me have it?
That was the only thing that made sense here.
I stood up and gathered my things.
A letter from my dad that I refused to open right now and some paperwork telling me about the life insurance policy that would be paying out soon.
“Have a good day, Mr. Sheperd,” I said quietly.
It wasn’t his fault that things hadn’t fallen my way.
He had said he’d tried to be the voice of reason…
I walked out of the lawyer’s office and into the gray, gloomy day and started marching down the street toward my car.
At least that would stay mine.
I’d bought that under my own name when I was sixteen.
I was halfway to my car when I noticed my neighbor—the rat bastard—leaning against the lamp post a few spots down from my car.
With him was his wife, who was leaning into him.
Or, his ex-wife.
I’d heard they’d gotten divorced not too long ago.
Didn’t surprise me.
If he was a snake that would steal from a dying man, why wouldn’t he divorce his beautiful, stay-at-home-mom wife? Did he not like the way she cleaned his kitchen? Did he hate how she prepared his meals? Washed his clothes? Reared his kids?
“Please, Denver?”
Sinclair, better known as Denver to his motorcycle club brothers, shook his head and gruffly said, “I’m sorry, Julie, but I’m not interested in trying again.”
“Why not?”
“You chose the wrong option,” he pointed out. “You had your chance. You had so many chances that it wasn’t funny. But, inevitably, you chose you. I can’t fix that anymore. We’re already divorced.”
“I’ll give you the money back if you give me another chance,” Juliana begged.
I wondered what money she was talking about.
