Taking Turns (Turning #1)(82)

“So I decided back when I was eighteen that I would not own anything.”

“Own…” The senator is really struggling now. “What does that mean? Surely you own things, Baldwin.”

“No,” I say calmly. “I don’t, actually. I live with friends, which is why I’m living with Chella right now. I don’t own a house, or a car, or even these clothes on my back. I haven’t purchased something for myself in over a decade. It took me a while to get the hang of it, I’ll admit that. Some nights I had no friends who’d let me sleep over or feed me. Or let me have one of their hoodies or coats on a cold night. So I’d give in and get a hotel room, order room service and buy some new clothes. But each time I failed, Senator, I’d spend the next week or two feeling guilty. And I’d try harder the next round. I’ve made it my mission in life not to spend a single dime of money on myself. My money wasn’t meant to better me, sir. It was meant to help others. So that’s what I do with it. I give it away.”

“Bric,” Chella says in a soft voice. “And Quin. They’re the ones who stuck by you, weren’t they?”

I nod my head.

“And that’s why you guys share everything, isn’t it?”

“Everything, Chella,” I say, looking down at her. Even you, I don’t add.

“Wow,” she sighs. “Just, really, Smith. Wow. I don’t even know what to say to that.”

It seems the senator is speechless. But I’m not really talking to him anyway, so I turn to Chella and speak to her. “I live a great life, you know? I’m not lacking for anything right now. I live an extremely luxurious life through the generosity of friends.” I look at Walcott and smile. “I’m very much enjoying your daughter’s house right now. It’s exquisite.”

Chella bursts out laughing. She covers her mouth with her hand, like she can’t believe I just said that.

“Really, I owe you, I guess. She said you purchased it for her. And even though she hates the furniture, I sorta dig it. Though I’ve gotten a friend to donate us some new pieces. And I got free paint for that disgusting orange wall.”

“You’re killing me, Smith.” Chella laughs. But her smile is so big right now, I’m flying. I’m so f*cking high off this moment. Sitting here just being… real with her. No games, no players, no sex.

“And yeah, I guess I could piss people off and they might stop caring about me. Stop wanting to help make my dream come true. And I might be out on the street again. Nowhere to go, nothing to eat, no coat on a winter night. But I’d find a place, Chella. I’d be OK if that happened.”

She beams at me. And then, before I even realize what’s happening, she leans over and kisses me right on the mouth. “I’ll be your friend forever, Mr. Baldwin. Ever and ever.”

“Yeah,” I say, eyeing her father from the corner of my eye. “About that. You see, Senator, I might have lied about one small thing.”

“Somehow, Mr. Baldwin, I think there’s a lot of lies inside you.”

“I lied about Chella. Because I would like to own something in this lifetime. And that something is your daughter.”





Chapter Twenty-Eight - Chella




I have no clue what’s happening right now, but my mouth is hanging open in shock. What did he just say? I blink my eyes hard three times and then look over at my father.

He’s scowling. And shaking his head at me. “Well, Chella, if you were trying to challenge me tonight, you certainly succeeded.”

“Don’t look at her,” Smith says. “Look at me. I’m the one talking to you.”

Oh, my God.

The gaze my father drags over to Smith is nothing short of pure disgust. “You’re no longer a part of this conversation, Mr. Baldwin. This is a family matter between my daughter and me. So you can either sit here and keep quiet or you can leave. Those are your options.”

Smith opens his mouth but I grab his arm. “Smith,” I say softly. “Just let him talk. Please.”

Smith doesn’t stop staring at my father but he does stay quiet.

“Daddy, why are you here? You told me two weeks ago you weren’t coming for Christmas so I made other plans. I don’t mind rescheduling for you. You know that. But it’s rude to ask for this last minute.”

My father inhales deeply though his nose. He’s still a very handsome man. But it’s a very curated kind of handsome. Daily sessions with a private trainer, his fingernails are perfectly manicured, his hair gets attention from the best DC barbers. His hair is almost pure silver—at least he doesn’t dye it. And his skin has been smoothed by a plastic surgeon.

Smith is polished. Very much so. But he’s not perfect in any way. He’s always got a flaw on display. Like tonight. His hair is kind of wild. Not the neat slicked-back look he usually wears.

I like it. I like the mess.

“You may not be aware of this, Marcella, but I haven’t dated since your mother passed three years ago.”

Jesus Christ. That’s what this is about? Two conversations about my mother in one day? Just what the f*ck?

“But I’ve met someone.” My father stops to clear his throat. “She’s… twenty-three.”

Smith’s laugh is loud, but short. Kind of a classic Ha!