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“What time are you bringing your sexy ass home?”

“I’m leaving now.”

Hanging up my phone, I put it back into my clutch before pressing my fingers into my mouth and whistling for the first taxi I see speeding toward me.

2

A sharp ringing sound pierces through the dark depths of my dreams, so I groan, flipping over onto my tummy while squeezing the pillow to my ears. “Make it stop!” The nuisance doesn’t stop though, oh no, it continues.

“Isa!” Devon—the best friend—storms into my room, the door handle hitting the back of my bedroom wall.

He snatches my phone from my bedside drawer and flashes it in front of me. “Answer your fucking phone.”

He must see that I’m not about to answer my phone or him, so he answers, “Hello?” Devon groans down my phone. “Yes, ma’am.” The mattress dips from underneath me. “Isa!” he whispers harshly. “It’s Lydia, wake up!”

“Sorry, I’m dead,” I murmur, snuggling deeper into my warm blankets.

“You asked for it…” something drops to my bed and then he walks out.

“Isa! Are you still asleep? It’s midday! For goodness sake, woman, get up!”

I let out a throaty groan while shoving the blankets off myself.

Fucking Devon, putting my phone on speaker.

Massaging my temples, I close my eyes. “Yes? What do you want!”

“The charity auction is tomorrow. I expect you to be here. Both your father and I do…”

“I can’t. I have work.” I flip my warm squishy blankets off my body.

“You’re an artist. Your job is not that important. Reschedule.”

I swing my legs off the bed and pull my ruffled socks up my legs. “My paintings don’t allow me to reschedule. Sorry, the creative brain curse, it means we’re a slave to ourselves.” I walk into my closet and tug down a pair of tight ripped skinny jeans and a clingy off the shoulder crop top. I have a slender body with a bubble butt and double DD’s. Devon says I have the body all men crave and all women envy, I’m not sold. I have wide ass hips and tiny legs. That means, when I buy a size two in jeans, they’re almost always tight around my butt while being loose around my waist. But these jeans are my favorite. They’re washed denim with a couple holes in the knees of each leg. They’re my favorite because they tuck and shove all of my skin in, and by skin I mean fat. The crop top is for added innocence since these are practically hoochie jeans.

Taking out a pair of nude strappy heels, I dump everything onto my bed. I wonder if this top will go with those dashing hoops I bought last week. Why am I caring what goes with what ou—

“Are you listening to me, Isa? You need to attend. Your father has important men coming tomorrow, and we need the family together!”

“For what— exactly?” I shuffle out of my loose cotton shirt, throwing it across the room. I’m not a tidy human. It drives Devon crazy, but I think it’s good for him to realize if he ever decides to settle down, that not all woman—or men— are uptight little OCD clean freaks. Some of us, don’t care.

Some of us, think there are more important things to waste your time on. Like I don’t know…eating.

“For the election, Isa, for goodness sake. You know your father is in his second term running for the presidency. You need to support this family whether you agree with some of your father’s decisions or not, it’s imperative that you attend. Especially with the end drawing near.”

“Jeeez.” I clip my strapless bra on. “How much did he pay you for that speech?”

“Isa…” she exhales. As much as I love to ruffle my stepmom’s feathers, deep down, I don’t want to overly-stress her out. My father does that enough for both of us.

“I’ll be there, Lydia.” Picking up my phone, I hang up and toss it back onto my bed just as Devon waltzes back in with his gym shorts hanging casually off his hips and a tight tank clinging to his chest.

Around a mouthful of granola, he points with his spoon. “You’re looking much more awake.”

My eyes narrow. I know it’s not his fault, but being mad at Devon is always fun, and anyway, now I’m in a pissy mood in general because I have to fucking fly to Washington.

“You got sucked in, huh?” He grins at me around his spoon, his boyish dimples sinking into his cheeks. Devon is handsome, that’s a given. He has thick lashes which curve around his ocean blue eyes, a messy mop of blond hair, and a hint of a smooth golden tan that I’m guessing, he inherited from his part Spanish background.

“Only because I didn’t want to be a pain to Lydia.” A guy walks past behind Devon down our hallway, and I snap my eyes back to a guilty looking Devon.


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