Free Scarlett Red: A Billionaire SEAL Story, Part 2 (In the Shadows) by P.T. Michelle

tone settling somewhat. “That’s her calling. No, I’m talking to you right now.” A pause. “Should you be doing that? Get the others to help you.” Another pause. “Why don’t you just send it to me at the resort. I’m here for a bit longer.” After he rattles off his room number at the resort’s address, he asks, “Are you feeling okay now? Good. Don’t over do it. Better yet, make your mom do all the work since she’s the one selling. Yeah, yeah, I know how she can be. Just don’t let her push all the work off on you.” Another pause, then he’s back to smiling. “That’s just how I’m wired. Someone has to look out for you. Let’s get together when I’m back in town.”
    “Sorry about that,” he says, setting the phone into a slot in the console. “Family stuff.”
    “I’m sorry someone is sick.” When he looks at me in confusion, I clarify. “You said someone’s in the hospital.”
    “My father just had his appendix removed. He’s fine now, but while he’s out of commission my stepmother has decided to sell the family beach house. My pregnant sister is there clearing stuff out, while I’m sure my stepmother is piling on more work.”
    “I don’t detect any bitterness at all,” I say, offering an empathetic smile.
    “My stepmother is not my favorite person.”
    His phone rings again and this time, he swears before he answers. “I figured you’d be calling. Honestly, I’m surprised it took you this long. Ah, camped out on your lawn, did they?” A devious smile tilts his lips.
    I can’t believe the difference in Bash’s tone. A sharp edge of condescension mixed with pure dislike. It must be his stepmother. Obviously she picked the wrong guy to get crossways with.
    “Probably because I told my lawyer to take care of it last week, making it a matter of public record. Screw the tabloids. I signed the deal three years ago, but I just now got around to filing it. Go ahead, show it to him. I don’t give a damn about the agreement. I never did. Tear it up if you want.”
    When he pauses, I cringe at hearing her screech through the phone, “You’re such a manipulative son-of-a-bitch. ”
    Bash calmly speaks over her shouting. “It’s done. You may as well get used to it.” Then he hangs up on her. Two seconds later his phone starts to ring again, but this time he turns off the ringer. A few more seconds pass, and his phone must’ve been set up to read texts out loud, because the automated voice says, “Message from New York area code. ‘You must not care about him at all. He’ll hate you for this.’”
    I gasp when Bash grabs the phone and throws it as hard as he can into a field of sunflowers as we zoom past.
    When he sets his jaw and continues to drive like he didn’t just chuck a thousand dollar phone into a flower field, I say, “You ah, want to talk about it?”
    His aviator-covered gaze swings toward me. “Just family BS. I’m sure you deal with it all the time too.”
    I look out at the passing farmer’s fields. “Not phone-tossing worthy.”
    “Are you saying you get along with your parents all the time?
    “My mom died when I was a baby and my dad’s not in the picture.”
    He blinks at my comment, sympathy taking over his own anger. “I’m sorry. You don’t have any siblings?”
    Amelia’s sweet cherub face and blonde hair comes to mind, but when I try to picture the details of her features, I can’t. My eyes suddenly water at the realization. I’m losing my memories of her. Why did all the pictures have to burn in that explosion? “My younger sister died when she was little.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    I nod and lift my head, letting the wind dry my eyes. “It’s just me and my aunt. We’re very low key. Never any drama.”
    He snorts. “You can have mine.”
    His wry comment takes the edge off my dark thoughts about Amelia’s death. “Your sister or the family drama?”
    “The drama.” He grins. “I’ll keep the sister.”
    I snicker. “I