The Sweet Boy I Took In Turned Out to Be an Unhinged Big Shot

On my third day in this world, I got a call from the landlord.

"You need to go check on that old apartment of your father's. The lock's broken, and somebody's staying in there. If anything happens, I'm not getting dragged into it."

After I hung up, I grabbed the key my mom, Laura Whitmore, had left behind and headed over.

I was working as an archival restorer in the old part of town now. It wasn't the sort of job that came with many surprises, which made what I found at the apartment even harder to process.

The living room looked like a tornado tore through it, and there was a young man sitting in the corner of the couch with his clothes in disarray.

I stopped in the doorway.

I'd lived long enough to think I'd seen just about every kind of attractive man there was, but I'd never seen anyone who looked like him.

His eyes were so dark they gleamed. When he looked up with a smile in them, my gaze went straight to him.

"Who are you?"

His eyes were wet when he looked at me. "Are you here to make me leave too?"

I had no idea what he was talking about.

"This is my dad's apartment. I came here looking for him."

He dropped his gaze. "My parents disappeared. I found an IOU at home with his name on it, so I came to ask him about them."

"And you've been staying here ever since?"

"He said he knew where my parents were, but he wanted money before he'd tell me. I don't have any."

His eyes reddened again, and pieces of the original novel began falling into place in my head.

My dad, Richard Whitmore, really had been a con artist. He'd scammed people out of money, conned women into marrying him, taken advantage of sick people, among other unsavory acts. There wasn't much he wouldn't stoop to.

Then I noticed the red marks circling Hayden's wrist.

My temper spiked.

"Did he lay his hands on you?"

The man quietly pulled his sleeve down over the marks.

So that was a yes.

I exhaled, caught somewhere between furious and mortified that I was related to the man.

"Jesus. That old bastard really has no boundaries."

The man looked almost apologetic. "I won't stay here and make trouble for you. Just let me stay tonight. When he comes back, I'll talk to him myself."

He was still waiting for Richard?

What exactly did he think was going to happen?

"He isn't coming back."

The man looked up. "Why not?"

"He ran."

His mouth turned down. "But he promised."

For a moment, something in his expression hardened. He didn't cry or argue, though. He only turned his face away stiffly.

That was what got me.

Laura used to do the same thing.

Once, Richard had shoved her into the edge of the dining table hard enough to split her forehead open. Blood had run down the side of her face, and she'd simply sat there without saying a word.

The memory took most of the steel out of me. Besides, I'd always been too curious for my own good.

"What's your name?"

"Hayden Jensen."

"Where's your ID?"

"He took it."

"I knew my dad was garbage. I didn't realize he'd managed to get worse!" I raged.

There wasn't much food in the apartment. After digging through the kitchen, I found half a loaf of bread that had dried out and put it into a toaster.

Behind me, Hayden coughed twice.

When I looked over, he immediately turned his face away.

"You don't have to pretend you're fine."

Once the bread was ready, I set the bowl in front of him. "Eat."

He looked down at it. "Aren't you worried I might be scamming you?"

"Even if you're planning to scam me, you can at least get some food in you first."

I found a clean towel, then tossed him the spare key.

"Wash your face. You can stay tonight. We'll deal with everything else tomorrow."

Hayden reached for the towel and lifted his face toward mine. His lips came so close that my body went unexpectedly weak.

He paused too, then raised his eyes to mine.

"Babe."

"Don't call me that."

"Thank you."

I turned away and went out to the balcony for a cigarette.

Cold air slipped down the neck of my shirt, making me shiver, but it did nothing to clear my head.

One thought kept circling back.

None of this was in the book.