A Million Dollar Secret
The air reeked of cigarettes and gasoline, and I hated how familiar it felt.
“Still brooding over daddy’s rejection?” came the unmistakable voice behind me. I turned slowly. Javier Hernández strolled into view, all swagger and shadow, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a whiskey-stained smirk stretching across his face. Dressed in a leather jacket and ripped jeans, he looked like a punk billionaire’s dream, messy, dangerous, and far too charming for his own good.
“I heard about the board meeting,” he continued. “Tyler still holding your leash?” I didn’t answer.
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