Patter

purchase from my college days. I had kept it running with duct tape and cheap parts for over a decade, all because Grayson said every dollar ne

ates stood between me and a manicured, vibrant green lawn that looked like a country club

e, perfectly laid flagstone driveway. I looked down at my old, worn-out sneakers

deep, jagged breath, lifted my finger, and pressed t

etched like an hour. My heartbeat roared in my eardru

t was a young, lazy, and sickeningly flirtatious

still, my eyes locked dead center on the

ing sound echoed through the air. The massive iron

rched across the sprawling courtyard, my cheap sneakers slapping against

eavy door swung open, revealing a tall, stunni

ilk pajama set. In her right hand, she casually he

ed instantly. Her eyes swept over my baggy t-shirt, my messy h

ripping with arrogance. "Are you

rfectly injected lips. I committed her features to memory. It w

y vocal cords. "I'm Allie Patterson," I said,

brief second of recognition flashed in her eyes. Then, the

ad, she leaned her shoulder lazily against the expensive

"So you're the company's... technical backbone." She

ing against a custom leather sofa was a set of Callaway golf clubs. Grayson's c

d on the inside of my cheek. I bit down until the

voice was so cold it d

he champagne in her glass, watching the bubbles ris

my chest cavity. I curled my fingers inward. I squeezed my

twisted deep enough. She deliberately raised her left hand, br

nd. The reflection flashed into my

re was a massive, flawless pear-shaped pink diamond. It was t

cked right beneath the massive pink rock was anot

air drained from the world. I stared u

extended her left hand outward, holding it inches from

orious smile and lowered her

y, isn