All Chapters of Secrets From My Billionaire Ex: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

BOOM BOOM BOOM.My dream has bass.Boom boom boom. “Sienna!”My dream sounds kind of pissed off . . . and like TK.My eyes fly open and I bolt up.Which is a mistake.“Ouch.” I grab my lower back and it feels like the hardwood floor spent my entire nap punching me.Out of the corner of my eye, I see the screen on my phone light up. I’m not old, but I’m not a teenager and I maybe (definitely) read on my phone too much, so it takes my vision a few seconds to adjust and make out the name on the phone.TK.I shake my head. God forbid he be the tiniest bit patient.I swipe the screen and forgo a greeting. “I’m coming.”“Finally,” he mutters, and I contemplate revoking my offer. “I’ve only been banging on your door for the last twenty minutes. The cops are probably going to show soon.”Shoot. He’s been here that long? I scramble off the floor, feeling a tiny bit bad but trying not to let him know I’m feeling that way. “Drama king.”“Just open the door.”I twist open the locks, unlatch the d

I don’t harp on them every time I strip down to take a shower or get dressed, I just don’t show them off. I haven’t been caught in a bikini since the summer of ’07. And TK being an Adonis and all, I’m not too hyped up for him to bear witness to the road map of the forty pounds I gained.“I’m serious,” he says, never dropping eye contact.I roll my eyes and purse my lips. “You are so full of it.”“Sienna, really listen to me, please.” He lets go of my hands and moves from between my legs to the unused side of my bed. He leans over and, with what seems like no effort at all, lifts my still-carrying-baby-weight ass and drops it right in his lap.This position almost feels more intimate, but also more equal, so I don’t fight it. “Talk.”His eyes go soft, as if he’s looking at me for the very first time, and he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “If I could do anything, I’d go back in time and be there for you and Ace. I wish I could’ve seen you pregnant.Your tits were probably phenomen

“HE WHAT?” VONNIE DAMN NEAR SHOUTS, DRAWING THE ATTENT behind her.“He moved in.” I slide another martini in front of her and a glass of red wine in front of Charli. “Last Monday.”“Last Monday?” Now Charli’s shouting. “As in seven full days ago and you’re just now telling us?”“It all happened really fast.” I shrug, not wanting to go into full detail in a room full of strangers.“She just told you about TK?” Sadie slides her rhinestone-encrusted butt onto the barstool next to Vonnie, pointing a hot-pink acrylic nail my way.“Did she tell you about the maybe stalker she has?” “What?” Vonnie and Charli scream in unison.I narrow my eyes at Sadie before turning to both Vonnie and Charli. “I don’t have a stalker.” I try to calm them down. “I know you just met her, but Sadie is very dramatic. Always keep that in mind when listening to one of her stories.”“I do have a certain flair for the dramatics,” Sadie agrees. Then, as if to prove my point, she raises a fist above her head before ope

DOORBELLS CAN BE REALLY FREAKING FANCY.And TK has a lot of expendable income.The first I know as fact, because the one attached to my modest, inneed-of-renovations home has a doorbell with more capabilities than my phone. And it’s the same doorbell twenty-two people on Forbes’s richest one hundred list have. No, really, that’s part of their pitch. And if I wasn’t sold by the security features already, that would’ve sold me for sure. It’s also the same doorbell TK has, but that’s not nearly as impressive as Forbes.The second I’m just assuming because I glanced at the bill for the security system when the guy put it on the kitchen table and there was a comma in the price. I would’ve objected, but there were already holes in most of my walls from the touchscreen alarm boxes scattered throughout my house and video cameras at different angles on the outside of my house.It takes the security guys (and one girl) over an hour to point out all the features and test me on arming and disarmi

FOOTBALL IS THE SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE EQUIVALENT OF A CULTIt seems like tons of fun and everyone around you is an avid follower of the religion.Oops.I mean sport.They wear the colors. They memorize the prayers. They will shove a boot up your ass if you don’t believe like they do—just ask the Chiefs fan who has been hounded since he sat his ass in his seat. And no matter your reservations, you get sucked in. Before you know what’s happening, you’re jumping out of your seat, cheering when the ball is caught, and booing when the refs prove to be blind and make the worst calls ever. As soon as you enter the church they call a stadium, you’re a believer.Until reality slaps you awake.It’s the beginning of the fourth quarter, and much to my dismay, the score is tied 17–17. Some people might appreciate the closeness of the game. I, on the other hand, hate it. I’ll take a blowout over this any day. You call it boring, I call it ulcer preventive.Tomato tomahto.The Mustangs have the ball,