Read Online The Billionaire's Heart (The Silver Cross Club Book 4) by Bec Linder - Free Book Online
Authors: Bec Linder
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early screwed up my timeline a little, but I just ran some errands in Midtown until it was time to take the train to Queens.
My parents lived in the same place they’d lived my entire life, a rowhouse just north of Broadway that my father had gut-renovated back in the ‘80s. The house was his pride and joy, and each summer the small flower garden in front of the house was a little more elaborate than the summer before. It was all dormant now, though, or lying quietly underground to wait for winter to pass. I walked up the sidewalk and climbed the front steps, but before I could raise my hand to knock, the door opened.
“Sadie! You’re late,” my brother said.
I rolled my eyes. Devin was two years older than me, and he acted like it was his life’s work to boss me around. “Dinner’s at 6:30, and it’s not even 6:00 right now,” I said. “If you think that’s late, you need to learn how to tell time.”
He smirked. “6:00 means it’s past time to start drinking. I brought wine. Ma isn’t home yet, but she called and said she was getting on the subway. Come on in and let’s get smashed.”
“A man after my own heart,” I said, and went inside.
The house smelled familiar. I was never quite sure what it was—some combination of laundry detergent, floor cleaner, food, and the terrible scented candles my mother loved—but it smelled like home . Devin disappeared into the back of the house, and I took off my coat and hung it in the hall closet, taking my time, enjoying being in a familiar place with familiar furnishings, warm and sound. The house was always untidy and a little cluttered, because neither of my parents was much of a housekeeper, and it was perfect just as it was.
My dad was in the kitchen, cooking up a storm. He was an insurance agent, and his more reasonable work hours meant that he was usually the one who ended up making dinner. He claimed he had learned to like it over the years, and as time went by, Saturday dinners became increasingly elaborate. I went in to say hello, and he accepted a kiss on the cheek, but then said, “I want you and that brother of yours out of my kitchen. The two of you never do anything but get underfoot.”
“I could chop things,” I said, feeling guilty.
“The time for chopping was half an hour ago,” he said. “Now it’s the time for you to leave me be. Get out of here.”
“Sadie, I’m opening the bottle,” Devin called from the dining room, and I was no fool. I went to where the booze was.
I sat at the table, resting my elbows on the rumpled white tablecloth, while Devin mucked around with the wine. He filled my glass almost to the top, and I raised my eyebrows.
“You look like you need it,” he said.
“I guess so,” I said. “I also need a job.”
He sat across from me with his own overflowing glass. “I thought you were working for that start-up, though.”
“I am,” I said. “But it’s just a contract position. I’ll be out of work again in less than a month. I need to find something else. I’ve put in some applications.”
“So why do you look so depressed?” he asked.
I sighed and took a big sip of wine. “Because I sort of like the contract work. The guy’s a real do-gooder, saving starving babies in Africa and all that—”
“Oh Lord, spare me the white guilt,” Devin said.
“—and I like working for him. Shut up, Devin. He’s not like that.”
“Okay, sure,” Devin said. “Whatever you say. You’re still gonna keep looking for other work, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m going to call some places on Monday to follow up on my applications. If anyone offers me a job, I’ll take it. I’m not an idiot.”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Devin said.
I rolled my eyes. “What about you? How’s Freedom Writers going?”
He sipped his wine and scowled at me.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “Wrong movie. I mean To Sir, With Love .”
“Why can’t I be Hilary Swank?” he asked. “Is
My parents lived in the same place they’d lived my entire life, a rowhouse just north of Broadway that my father had gut-renovated back in the ‘80s. The house was his pride and joy, and each summer the small flower garden in front of the house was a little more elaborate than the summer before. It was all dormant now, though, or lying quietly underground to wait for winter to pass. I walked up the sidewalk and climbed the front steps, but before I could raise my hand to knock, the door opened.
“Sadie! You’re late,” my brother said.
I rolled my eyes. Devin was two years older than me, and he acted like it was his life’s work to boss me around. “Dinner’s at 6:30, and it’s not even 6:00 right now,” I said. “If you think that’s late, you need to learn how to tell time.”
He smirked. “6:00 means it’s past time to start drinking. I brought wine. Ma isn’t home yet, but she called and said she was getting on the subway. Come on in and let’s get smashed.”
“A man after my own heart,” I said, and went inside.
The house smelled familiar. I was never quite sure what it was—some combination of laundry detergent, floor cleaner, food, and the terrible scented candles my mother loved—but it smelled like home . Devin disappeared into the back of the house, and I took off my coat and hung it in the hall closet, taking my time, enjoying being in a familiar place with familiar furnishings, warm and sound. The house was always untidy and a little cluttered, because neither of my parents was much of a housekeeper, and it was perfect just as it was.
My dad was in the kitchen, cooking up a storm. He was an insurance agent, and his more reasonable work hours meant that he was usually the one who ended up making dinner. He claimed he had learned to like it over the years, and as time went by, Saturday dinners became increasingly elaborate. I went in to say hello, and he accepted a kiss on the cheek, but then said, “I want you and that brother of yours out of my kitchen. The two of you never do anything but get underfoot.”
“I could chop things,” I said, feeling guilty.
“The time for chopping was half an hour ago,” he said. “Now it’s the time for you to leave me be. Get out of here.”
“Sadie, I’m opening the bottle,” Devin called from the dining room, and I was no fool. I went to where the booze was.
I sat at the table, resting my elbows on the rumpled white tablecloth, while Devin mucked around with the wine. He filled my glass almost to the top, and I raised my eyebrows.
“You look like you need it,” he said.
“I guess so,” I said. “I also need a job.”
He sat across from me with his own overflowing glass. “I thought you were working for that start-up, though.”
“I am,” I said. “But it’s just a contract position. I’ll be out of work again in less than a month. I need to find something else. I’ve put in some applications.”
“So why do you look so depressed?” he asked.
I sighed and took a big sip of wine. “Because I sort of like the contract work. The guy’s a real do-gooder, saving starving babies in Africa and all that—”
“Oh Lord, spare me the white guilt,” Devin said.
“—and I like working for him. Shut up, Devin. He’s not like that.”
“Okay, sure,” Devin said. “Whatever you say. You’re still gonna keep looking for other work, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m going to call some places on Monday to follow up on my applications. If anyone offers me a job, I’ll take it. I’m not an idiot.”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Devin said.
I rolled my eyes. “What about you? How’s Freedom Writers going?”
He sipped his wine and scowled at me.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “Wrong movie. I mean To Sir, With Love .”
“Why can’t I be Hilary Swank?” he asked. “Is
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