Settled? I want to protest, to tell Mom I’ll wait in the car, when she grabs ahold of my wrist a little too tightly like she knows I want to run. Instead, she steers us into a huge foyer painted beige, pictures lining all the walls of people, mostly young kids that look vaguely familiar, and big expensive furniture that all matches unlike the mix and match stuff I grew up with.
Once the door is closed, I turn to face the man because that’s what Mom is doing. He’s older, but I couldn’t guess his age even if I wanted to. Based on the wrinkles by his eyes when he narrows them, and the streaks of gray in his otherwise dark hair, I’m guessing forties. Maybe fifties. Older than Mom’s thirty-five, though she can pass for thirty.
He’s looking at me from head to toe, making me squirm at the twitch of his lips as they form into a small scowl. I don’t know what to do or say, so I play with my shirt hem again to busy my fingers.
“Christ,” he murmurs, swiping a palm down his face.
Mom finally let’s go of me, crossing her arms over her chest. The movement pushes her boobs up, but for once, the unhappy man doesn’t notice. “Did you see the papers?”
He hesitates only a moment. “Yes.”
“And?” she presses impatiently.
The man looks between us, his dark eyes skimming over me again quickly. I shift on my feet and gnaw on the inside of my cheek. He curses again, his fingers going through his short, peppered hair. He’s wearing pressed dress clothes, no wrinkles, or stains to be seen, and they’re fitted to his tall, lean build. I bet he pays a lot of money for them to be like that. “I think we should sit down and talk with some of my people about this.” He pauses and glances down at the shirt I’m fidgeting with. “And you should probably get rid of that.”
My jaw drops. “W-What?”
Mom sighs in exasperation. “I swear, Leighton, you need to learn to listen.”
My cheeks blossom with a fiery heat as I quickly stare down at the floor when Harry’s eyes come back to me. I hear him repeat, “Leighton” like he’s testing it.
Wanting an answer despite Mom preferring I stay quiet, I ask, “Why do I need to get rid of my shirt?”
“Because,” Harry answers in a tone not quite hard but not soft either, “we don’t like supporting the competition here.”
Competition? Before I can even dare to look at him with curious eyes, I hear footsteps coming down the stairs from somewhere behind me, followed by a young guy’s gruff voice asking, “Who the hell is this?”
I turn and feel my heartbeat drum loudly in my ears when I lock eyes with a dark haired, dark eyed boy that I recognize instantly. How could I not? He’s all over the media, grocery store tabloids, and TV. More than that, he’s constantly playing on the radio.
Kyler Bishop, formally from a boy band known as Single Division before they broke up years ago after the person standing in front of me decided he wanted to go solo. And a division it was, according to the gossip magazines.
He’s taller in person, even though he was one of the shorter ones in the band. I think I read somewhere that he’s six-one or six-two. I don’t remember. It’s certainly taller than my five-five, though Mom’s old coworker at the last diner she worked, Rodrigo, told me he thinks I have some more growing to go.
Mom gives the former boy bander her typical sugary sweet smile, which he glares at like he sees right through it. He may be the first person, young or old, to do that and I have an odd respect for him even though I’m struck speechless to be standing this close to someone who I’ve only ever watched on YouTube before.
It’s Harry who says, “Son,” which nearly makes me choke even though the Bishop connection should have given me a clue, “this is Katherine and your…and her—and Leighton.”
I blink at the man’s struggled introduction, blinking between him and his son when Mom adds, “She’s your sister.”
My heart drops into my stomach, shock icing over my body until I’m frozen when all their attention turns on me.
Kyler Bishop looks at me with wide eyes, seemingly as pale as I am, thoughts unknown considering I can barely gather my own. He does the same thing as his father, studies me, his eyes going to my shirt before his expression goes completely lack.
The competition.
Oh crap.
“You have got be fucking kidding me.”
Chapter Three
Leighton / Present Day
It’s too big, I think. I don’t say the words because we’ve already seen eleven other properties and Kyler and the agent are getting tired. Plus, it’s a dry 94 degrees and not even the cutoff jean shorts that land a little too high on my thighs paired with a loose tank top is helping me keep cool.
The house we’re looking at is a cute modern villa, but the perky brunette with big boobs who’s been showing us estates said it’s 5,500 square feet. I’m not sure why we’d need so much space, but Ky seems interested in the property. Or, at least, he’s interested in the woman who’s telling us about it in great detail.
I’m a little queasy seeing them interact because it reminds me of the way Mom acted with guys. The flirting, hair twirling, subtle touching when it’s not necessary. Weirdly, that makes me miss her more than I already do.
“What do you think?” The question pulls me out of the daze I’m in, drawing my attention over to where Kyler stands with his hands in his pockets. The agent, Alice if memory serves, stands a little too close to him but I shrug it off because it doesn’t really concern me.
I look back at the gray house in front of us, examining the huge windows, red door, and full shrubs lining the pathway. I know nothing about keeping up with things like that. When I was younger, I tried keeping a few plants alive that the sweet old lady next door gave to me. They died in a month. Even the cactus.
“It’s nice,” I admit, eyeing the bushes again like they’re enemy number one. “I, uh, don’t know if I’ll be able to keep up with any of the flowers or anything though.”
Alice, our agent, laughs, waving a manicured hand in the air. I complimented her styled pink nails when we shook. Sometimes, Mom would take me to the salon with her and get them done. It stopped me from my biting habit that I evidently still have today since I gave up keeping the acrylic tips in favor for my natural, botched nails that I coat with dollar store polish. “You can easily hire someone to keep up with maintenance. I have plenty of contacts I could pass along to you.”
Inwardly, I cringe at the thought of hiring anyone to do work around the house that I can easily get done myself. Ky must know that because he decides to move along. “Want to see inside, Leighton?”
I nod, basking in the idea of getting out of the sun even if it’s only for a few minutes. Alice takes lead and Kyler matches my short strides as we follow her close behind. My body eases in the cool air when we step into the entryway. Eyes roaming over the interior of the house, I take in the subtle decor that isn’t flashy like the other places we’ve seen. Even though the open floorplan is still larger than we need, it’s a cute setup. Right off the entryway is a living room and dining room, with a huge wall and archway that looks right into the kitchen. There’s a sliding door on the back wall that leads out to a yard, and huge windows bathing the room in natural light.