by Ami Le Coeur
She picked up the folder I’d been working on when she showed up and began flipping through the contents.
“Put that down,” I said quietly, wheeling closer to her, my hand out. “It’s personal.”
“Why? Aren’t we friends now?” The damn woman literally batted her eyelashes at me, then held the folder just out of my reach.
“Actually, no, we’re not. I think it’s time for you to go.”
She seemed pleased by my irritation. “Perhaps I’ve underestimated you,” she said. “You might have a little fire in you after all. Still, you better heed my warning and stay away from Thompson. When he does beat you, you won’t be able to run away like I did.”
“Let me see you out,” I began, turning my chair toward the door.
She laughed. A hearty laugh this time. “Why should we cut our visit short? I’m just beginning to enjoy getting to know you. ” She continued to flip through the folder.
Now my anger bubbled up—this was my house, she was going through my belongings, and I’d already made myself clear that it was time for her to leave. Almost as suddenly as it had blown up, my anger morphed into helplessness. Realistically, what could I do? Chase her around in my wheelchair?
I could call Thom.
No, he would be livid, and there would likely be hell to pay if the two of them confronted each other in my home. Better to call the police.
I reached for my phone, pulling it out of its pocket just as I noticed her shoulders stiffen. She frowned, then lifted her eyes to mine, glaring. “You bitch!” Her eyes narrowed with accusation as she waved the folder in my direction.
That was it. I’d had enough of her and her visit.
I wheeled closer to her again and reached out to take the folder from her. My folder. Filled with the work Emily and I had done on our book. She jerked back her hand before I could grasp the folder, and the papers went flying.
“Now look what you’ve done!” Her voice was angry and reproachful, as if she was talking to an errant child who had misbehaved. I watched in dismay as the papers fluttered to the floor, and part of me couldn’t help wondering if this was a tone she used with Emily.
She bent down to pick up the papers, stuffing them back into the folder and muttering to herself. I’m sure I heard, “stupid back-stabbing cripple.”
“Stop,” I snapped. “Leave it. Go. Now. I’ll take care of this.”
“Seems to me you’re taking care of way too much as it is,” she spat out at me, still gathering up the papers. The look on her face shut me up as I realized she was even angrier than before. This “visit” had turned into a confrontation that was quickly spiraling out of control. I took a deep breath.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
She stood, shoving a paper under my nose. It was the mock-up of our book cover.
“By Emily Thompson? Illustrated by Maria Tilson? What gives you the right? Emily is my daughter, and I am the only one who gets to say what she can and cannot do. I am the only one who makes financial and legal decisions for her. Me. Not Francis, and certainly not you.”
“Look. Your daughter has a wonderful imagination. I was only trying to help support that.”
She glared at me. “Yeah, right. It looks to me like you were trying to exploit my daughter’s wonderful imagination. How were you going to spend the profits you received from my little girl’s wonderful imagination, Miss Maria?”
I gasped. This woman was unbelievable. In my home, accusing me. And being self-righteous about it.
“Don’t look so innocent,” she spat out. “You were going to profit from my daughter, taking advantage of a little girl and her dreams. Using her for your own purposes and... and... leaving her penniless, weren’t you?”
“Not at all! I would never—“
“Yeah, right,” she interrupted. By now Rachel’s face was blood red, the papers in her hand trembling with her rage. “You do realize she’s not under Thompson’s guardianship, don’t you ? And she’s certainly not an adult. She can’t sign a legal agreement. She doesn’t even know what’s in her best interest. She’s a child and can’t protect her intellectual property. She doesn’t understand the accounting aspect of any potential transaction, and will probably never know how much money you made from her wonderful imagination. How much you stole from her.”
Heat boiled through me. “I would never do that. I only—“
“Only what? I know what you’re doing. You’re a cripple and can’t have your own family and you’re trying to take mine.” Her eyes were daggers and spittle clung to her lower lip. “Miss Maria this. Miss Maria that. Miss Maria, Miss Maria…” she mimicked Emily’s tone. “Do you know that’s all I hear from sun up to sun down? First you’re fucking Francis, and now you want to fuck me by getting Emily to like you. Love you. Feel all creative and excited to be around you—“
“You’re crazy!” I began, then, bam, my face was on fire, the sting of her slap still resonating in the room.
“Crazy? I’m the crazy one?” Her laugh bubbled on the edge of hysteria.
I dropped my hand from my burning cheek. “Get out!” I yelled at her and picked up the phone from where it had been sitting in my lap. “Now!”
“Why? So you can sabotage me some more? Go behind my back? Turn my daughter away from me!” She threw the book cover at my face. “Steal from me, you pitiful little tramp?”
I started dialing. 9-1—
“What. The. Hell. Do. You. Think. You. Are. Doing. You… Slut.” She snatched the phone from my hand, nearly yanking me out of my chair. She threw it, hitting my mom’s favorite vase and they both went crashing to the floor.
A slice of grief speared through me at the loss of something I loved. This had become a nightmare and I wasn’t sure how to wake up from it.
“Get out!” I demanded, fed up with her games.
“Or what?” She spat into my face, leaning down and placing her hands on the arms of my chair. She began pushing me backwards. Fast. Too fast. Her red, blotchy face just inches from my own.
I tried to stop the chair, but the rubber of the wheels burned against my hands. “Stop it!” I screamed at her, my heart beating so hard in my throat the words could hardly find life.
She laughed and shoved. My chair propelled backwards like a missile.
I collided with a side table, the heavy wood toppling over with my momentum, the lamp hurtling to the floor as my chair began to overturn.
Pain flared in my back as my head whiplashed with a jerk. Then I was falling… falling… for what might have been seconds but seemed like hours. I became acutely aware of everything around me as the time stretched and the pain increased.
I tried to hold on, but the pain was so intense, a living thing biting its way down my spine.
Then light burst behind my eyes as my head hit the floor with a sickening crunch. I heard the blow—the connection of skull against wood—just before even more agony slashed through me.
Then numbness. A floating, blessed numbness just before…
everything…
went…
black….
>>>End Book 2 <<<
To get the next book in the series, click here.
This series is a collaboration between Ami LeCoeur and Elle Dawson, based on characters created by Ami LeCoeur in her High Stakes Seduction series.
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About the Authors
Ami LeCoeur
Like most romance writers, I am a romantic at heart. But I believe romance takes many forms, so in my heart it’s the classic Romanticism of the late 18th and early 19th centuries.
I have many creative interests that include painting, quilting, and glass art, as well as being a writer.
When I’m not traveling, I live on California’s Redwood Coast with my husband and two kitties. We have a wonderful ocean view, and when the fog comes in—as it alw
ays does—I’m usually either curled up with a good book, or busy writing, painting, or hovering around a warm kiln.
If you enjoyed this book, I’d love for you to leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads.
Connect with me:
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Twitter: @AmiLeCoeur.
Website: http://AmiLeCoeur.com
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Elle Dawson
Sharing ones thoughts on paper is an intimate experience, and should not be taken lightly. Some days I fear this process, as my mind can be a scary place to dwell. Other days I realize I’m not alone in this journey, and although the very action of expelling ones deepest thoughts onto paper is intensely personal, it is deeply healing. Funny how that works.
The ideas for my books came at a time when I was hurting, and needed a release that only writing could bring. As a romance lover, I couldn’t make myself write of new love, when it is easy to be in love, easy to be mad for each other, easy to have sex every night. Instead, I found a need inside me to re-connect couples, to shine a light of inspiration into a bedroom that has grown cold.
So I will continue to write as Elle Dawson, and be a mom, sister, daughter and friend in my real life. And read books that take me away or speed up my heart.
I’d love to stay connected...please visit me at one—or both—of these places:
Website: http://elledawson.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ElleDawsonWrites
Email me: [email protected]
Contents
Chapter 1 – Emily
Chapter 2 – Thom
Chapter 3 – Emily
Chapter 4 – Maria
Chapter 5 – Thom
Chapter 6 – Emily
Chapter 7 – Maria
Chapter 8 – Thom
Chapter 9 – Thom
Chapter 10 – Maria
Chapter 11 – Maria
Chapter 12 – Maria
Chapter 13 – Thom
Chapter 14 – Maria
Chapter 15 – Emily
Chapter 16 – Maria
About the Authors