Page 151 of The Clover Chapel (Jamison Valley 2)
She turned to me and snapped, “You’re right. I’m not fine.”
“Let’s talk about it. I want to help.”
She laughed dryly. “You want to help? That’s ironic.”
I held my hands up in surrender and resumed my silence.
“Oh, look, she’s pouting. There’s a surprise.”
“Steffie,” I said, hurt. “Why are you acting like this? What’s wrong?”
She looked down at her phone and a twisted grin spread across her face. What was going on? She had never looked so cruel.
“Steffie?”
“Shut up.” She dismissed m
e and went back to typing on her phone.
“Okay,” I said, standing from the couch. I didn’t need her attitude on this special day. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, if you’re just hormonal or mad at me for something, but you’re being mean. So unless you want to explain to me what’s going on and start acting like my friend, I think it would be best if we skipped the spa.”
I turned to leave but stopped when she called my name.
“Do you remember that guy that was stalking you at NYU last year?” she asked.
My body jolted as every muscle tensed. “Yes.”
“He’s coming over.”
“Excuse me?” What was she talking about? How did she know my stalker? Why did she know my stalker?
“He’s coming over,” she repeated, “to kill you.”
I blinked a few times and replayed her words then I relaxed and rolled my eyes. “Funny, Steffie,” I deadpanned, “though I’m worried that your sense of humor is becoming a little morbid.”
“No, really. He’s on his way here right now. I hired him to kill you and make it look like a burglary gone wrong.”
The tension immediately returned to my body. Her tone was undeniably serious. Before I could react, Steffie shocked me again by standing from the couch and pulling a small black pistol from the waistband of her jeans. When she aimed it at my chest, my hands instinctively wrapped around my belly.
“Do not move,” she ordered. “You’re going to stay right where you are until your biggest fan gets here.”
My head started whirling. This had to be some kind of prank. I had to be in one of those nightmares where, even after you wake up, it haunts you for hours. This had to be a dream. My friend was pointing a gun at me.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“It’s not complicated, Emmeline. You have what I want.” My blank stare made her sneer. “Money.”
“You want my money?” I asked, still completely confused.
“Well, it’s not like you’re going to use it,” she snapped. “You’re worth over one hundred million dollars, Emmeline. You might be willing to let all that money sit untouched in the bank, but I’m not. Your father isn’t as rich as he likes everyone to think. Did you know he put me on an allowance?”
What the fuck was happening? I stared at her frozen with shock. Did she actually think my death would get her my fortune?
“How is killing me going to get you money?” I couldn’t believe I was even asking that question.
“Simple. You die. Trent inherits your trust fund. I take it from Trent.”
“But Steffie, my money goes to Nick.” Now that I had poked a gaping hole in her logic, I hoped she would stop pointing her gun at me and my unborn child.
