Devoured: A Novel(3)

“Echo Falls is ranked first in females aged 18 to 34. There are people willing to trade their own offspring for a chance to work on this series. That being said, replacing you with a new wardrobe person who covets his career won’t be too hard a feat,” Tomas had said, punching something into the iPad he carried around everywhere. He never even spared me a glance so when he shoved a newly inventoried wardrobe rack against a brick slab wall, he didn’t see me startle. “Don’t force me to find that person, Jensen.”

“I’ll wrap it up in two weeks, Tomas,” I’d promised.

“You better.”

Telling Seth any of that is simply a waste of oxygen. He would either not get why I can’t neglect my job whenever I please or simply not care. Knowing my brother, it would be the second.

“Got anything I can wipe my face with?” I ask. Thinking about my job has me sweating even worse than before.

“Center console.”

I find a package of wet wipes in between a half-empty 30-count box of condoms and a completely empty bottle of Jose Cuervo. Before I can stop myself, I whirl on him and blurt, “I hope you’re not stupid enough to drink and drive. You’re only nineteen and you—”

“Don’t start, Si, okay? Today isn’t a good day for your bitching. ”

Sinking my teeth down on the inside of my jaw, I turn my attention to the bumper stickers on the tiny little Escort in front of us. Honk If You Hate People Too. How fitting.

It’s only an eight mile drive from the airport to the courthouse, but the trip ends up taking forty-five minutes thanks to the traffic and the snow. Seth and I spend nearly every minute of it in silence—just as we usually do when we’re around each other. As I dab at my face with wipes and smooth my long, red hair back into a low ponytail, I mentally kick myself for being dumbass enough to lend him money. He’s not mentioned it, and I doubt he will. Seth’s smart enough to realize that I’ll never bring up the money he owes me because I’d rather gouge myself in the eye than get into a confrontation with him.

There’s a reason why I rarely come to town and baby brother is just the smallest part of it.

?



By time Seth and I arrive at the courthouse and find the correct courtroom, the hearing is coming to an end. We sit on opposite ends of one of the wooden benches at the back of the room—him with his arms crossed tightly over his chest and me leaning forward, listening attentively.

From what I manage to piece together, this is the second hearing. The new purchaser, whom I’ve decided to refer to as Asshat and his lawyers are both here, and they’re seeking a formal eviction. My grandmother and her attorney Mr. Nielson (the same one she’s had since before I can remember) are across from them on the left side of the room. I find myself glaring death rays at Asshat’s back, even though I know I shouldn’t really be angry at him.

Just like I shouldn’t be checking him out.

His back is turned to me, so there’s a depressing limit to what I’m able to ogle, but I know that he’s built. And with a backside like his, the rest of him is bound to be just as gorgeous. Dressed in an impeccable black business suit that molds a little too perfectly to every inch of his body, he’s got dark, tousled hair that brushes his neck and long fingers. He taps them rapidly in some type of rhythm on the mahogany table that’s in front of him. I’m tall, but this guy towers over me by a good six inches—he’s easily 6’3” or 6’4”. And his ass . . . ugh, I bet the last thousand dollars in my account (and would even overdraw it a few hundred bucks) that the attorney beside him would be staring at it too if she could get away with it. Or if she could stop beaming up at him with her chest poked out for longer than five seconds.

Hot-faced and utterly reluctant, I drag my gaze back to Gram’s side of the courtroom. If Seth catches me staring at Asshat, he’ll never let me live it down. Knowing him, he’ll probably accuse me of conspiring with the enemy.

I frown, because I know that’s exactly what Seth would say.

“Mr. Nielson, your client has ten days before the court issues a possession order,” the judge is telling my grandmother’s lawyer. “After that, the sheriff will carry out the eviction within a week.” When my grandmother’s shoulders sag and she grips Nielson’s shoulder for support so hard her knuckles turn white, it takes every ounce of my willpower not to bolt out of my seat. I hate this. I hate my mother for this, because at the heart of things, it really is all her fault.