Dirty Forever (The Dirty Suburbs Book 8)
Table of Contents
Dirty Forever
Cassie-Ann L. Miller
The Dirty Suburbs Series
The Esquire Girls Series
Esquire HEAT Series
Standalone novels
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NEW SERIES
Dirty Forever
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
The Dirty Suburbs Series Epilogue
Ten years later…
Lily
Isla
Blakely
Faith
Samantha
Annaleigh
Gracie
All boxed up!
Dirty Forever
(The Dirty Suburbs Series - Book 8)
Cassie-Ann L. Miller
Dirty Forever (The Dirty Suburbs Series – Book 8)
Copyright © 2017 Cassie-Ann L. Miller
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents appearing therein are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be interpreted as real. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status of the various products referenced in this work.
Amazon’s Kindle Store is the only authorized distributor of this ebook. If you have downloaded or purchased it from any other distributor, please note that you have received an illegal copy. This not only violates the author’s copyright, deprives the author of royalties due and puts the book at risk of being removed from Kindle distribution, but it also exposes you to computer viruses, theft of your personal information by book pirates and potential legal prosecution.
Stories by
Cassie-Ann L. Miller
The Dirty Suburbs Series
Dirty Neighbor
Dirty Player
Dirty Stranger
Dirty Favor
Dirty Lover
Dirty Farmer
Dirty Silver
Dirty Forever
The Esquire Girls Series
Amber’s Story
Amber Nights (Amber – Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Madison’s Story
For Madison, Always (Madison – Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Ruthie’s Story
Ruthie’s Desire (Ruthie – Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Hailey’s story
Moments with Hailey (Hailey - Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Esquire HEAT Series
A Very Eager Intern
A Very Frustrated Attorney
Standalone novels
Matteo
Beast
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NEW SERIES
(The Small Town Bachelors Series)
The Dirty Suburbs Series has come to an end :( So what’s next?
Read to the end of Dirty Forever for details of about how you can grab your copy of the first book in my next series for FREE on Amazon (no strings attached) when it releases.
Dirty Forever
The Dirty Suburbs Series (Book 8)
BLURB
People assume that my marriage is over. They're wrong.
She kicked me out. She changed the locks. She had me served with those damn divorce papers.
But if Grace Monroe-Trotten thinks she's getting rid of me that easy, she's mistaken. She doesn't know the lengths I'd go to for her. I'm not giving up on my wife, on my son, on my marriage.
I've changed. And a real man isn't scared to jump through hoops (wearing ridiculous men's yoga pants) to prove it.
I may not deserve a second chance but I'm gonna fight like hell to get back in her heart and in her bed.
"Dirty Forever" is the much-anticipated conclusion to the "Dirty Suburbs", a series of full-length, stand-alone romantic comedies about the residents of small town Illinois.
HEA guaranteed. And no cheating, promise.
Table of contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
A quick note from the author
***The Dirty Suburbs Series Epilogue***
Evangeline
Lily
Isla
Blakely
Faith
Samantha
Annaleigh
Grace
Chapter 1
Daniel
The courtroom doors burst open and the camera shutters immediately begin to pop as the reporters hurl questions my way.
"Mr. Trotten—do you think that Judge Tucker's decision will deter the town council from pursuing the landfill project?"
"Now that the judge has blocked the project, what will the town of Reyfield do with that enormous plot of vacant land? Do you expect it to go up for sale?"
"There are rumors that developers are putting in bids to purchase the lot and construct condos. What's your client's position on that possibility?"
The national media rarely ever pays attention to sleepy little suburbs like Reyfield, Illinois—population (barely) 5000—but Shinewell vs. the Town of Reyfield is a landmark case.
And I just won the fuck out of it.
I needed a win. I really did. Because lately, I've been losing in my personal life. My marriage is a mess. My son is having a hard time adjusting. I'm paying a mortgage on a house I never step foot in while I spend my nights in a lonely, unfurnished apa
rtment on the bad side of town jerking off into my hand.
So I may suck as a husband, as a father, as a friend. But I'm good at this lawyer-thing. Even as I fail at everything else in my life, it's a relief to know that I'm still the best attorney in town.
I needed this win.
Adjusting my tie, I throw my shoulders back and lift my chin, adopting my most confident posture as I step out into the hallway. I hold a hand out in front of me, wordlessly commanding the crowd to fall silent. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. This injunction is only the first step in what I expect will be a long and arduous legal battle."
At least I hope it will be long and arduous because 'long' and 'arduous' always results in a series of big fat checks for me.
There's no way the town council won't appeal the decision. There's far too much money on the line. They won't just let it go.
A reporter pushes to the front. She's petite and blonde. Her lips are varnished in glossy red and blue shimmers on her eyelids. I'm sure that if I tilt my head ten degrees to the left, I'll get an unrestricted view of her areola. But that doesn't allure me. It pisses me off. I immediately find myself comparing her to Grace.
My wife is naturally the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. With her silky blonde hair, her soulful chestnut eyes and curves that beg to be explored, she doesn't need makeup and provocative clothes to have my body yearning for her. Too bad she wants nothing to do with me.
The dolled-up journalist opens her mouth. "But does your client have the funds necessary to wage this war? I mean, we're talking about a state-funded senior citizens' residence going up against the Town of Reyfield." She bats her eyelashes coquettishly, wearing a hint of a smile.
I barely acknowledge her. "This lawsuit isn't about money. It's about doing the right thing for our community."
Forgive me for being a full-of-shit bastard.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jim Thatcher, my unworthy opponent, slinking out of the courtroom. The reporters don't stop to ask him for comment, they don't even give him a second look. He shoots me a venomous glare and I continue to soak up the attention. He pulls out his cell phone and punches at the screen with his angry little sausage-fingers.
He's smarmy as fuck. The kind of guy that gives lawyers a bad reputation. Not that I'm an angel, myself. I've done "things". Things that straddle the line between right and fucking wrong. But Thatcher is a different breed of scum. A predator. He doesn't have an ethical bone in his body. And even worse, he's a shit lawyer. I don't know why people continue to hire him and I don't know why he continues to go up against me. Although he has double my experience in the halls of justice, he loses every time.
I don't let his vitriol throw me off my game. After all, the country is watching...She might be watching too.
The idea that my Grace might be sitting in our home, with our son, watching me on the television screen lights a fuse of determination in my blood. I know that I've hurt her but maybe she'll stop hating me for long enough to feel proud of me.
My mouth tilts into a lopsided grin. "The town of Reyfield will not succeed in erecting a landfill next-door to the residence. The Shinewell Senior's Residence is going to win this battle...They've got the best lawyer in the country fighting alongside them."
A scruffy-looking man in a cheap beige suit pushes through the crowd. "Daniel Trotten? Daniel Trotten?" He sticks a big brown envelope and a pen my way.
Hell yeah, I'll give you an autograph. It's a bit unorthodox for a lawyer to have fans but I'm a big deal. I graduated at the top of my class at Wayne State and landed a job at a local law firm with ease. In no time, I made junior partner, becoming the first lawyer in the firm’s history to earn that position before the age of 30.
Yeah, I’m a big deal…Can’t Grace see that?
Making sure to give the camera a good angle, I reach for the envelope. "Who do I make this out to, buddy?"
The man scoffs. "Daniel Trotten, you've been served!"
I feel the blood drain from my face. Really? Come on!
I shoot him a look and he just shrugs before disappearing into the crowd.
The reporters go wild.
"Mr. Trotten—who is this new lawsuit from?"
"Is the defendant already appealing Judge Tucker's decision?"
"Is your client prepared to face the appeals court?"
I stand straight, feet shoulder-width apart, and speak clearly and purposefully. "When you're a crusader for justice as I am, you inevitably find yourself the target of attacks from bullies trying to intimidate the people. But I won't be intimidated. This fight isn't my own, this victory isn't my own. It's the fight of the people, the victory of the people. Tell the town council that Daniel Trotten, esquire, will not be intimidated by their frivolous lawsuits."
I throw a challenging look over at Jim Thatcher. He gives me a smile that speaks unfiltered evil. Fuck that guy. I won't back down. I tear the envelope open and pull out the sheaf of papers. The bulbs flash in rapid fire and the reporters clamour for a look at the papers.
My heart stops cold in my chest. The document in front of me isn't a motion for appeal in the Shinewell vs. the Town of Reyfield case.
It's a divorce petition.
From my wife.
Chapter 2
Grace
Human beings are the most highly-evolved organisms on planet Earth. At least that’s what the scientists say. But when I look at the men of our species, I have serious doubts.
The eyes of the teenaged boy working the cash register flit over my breasts. Again. I narrow my gaze at him and when our eyes meet, his pimply cheeks go crimson. But does my death-stare deter him? Nope. His peepers are back on my rack in ten seconds flat. Objectifying me. Inspecting my body like merchandise in the clearance aisle.
Men!
They're so clueless. And selfish. They can't think beyond their own self-serving interests. The moment they start growing that first patch of fuzz on their chins, women become things to objectify and sexualize. And ultimately, throw away.
Aren’t we the species who walked on the moon? And eradicated smallpox? We invented Spanx, for crying out loud! Yet our men lose three-quarters of their IQ points at the mere sight of engorged mammaries? C’mon!
Hitching my 13-month-old higher on my hip, I pinch the fabric of the V-neck sweater I'm wearing and try to pull it up my chest. But it's useless. My heavy jugs just weigh the stretchy knit down and my cleavage spills over the top, further fueling my rage.
By the time the cashier is ringing up my groceries, I am so over his ogling and the fury inside of me has reached its boiling point. I just snap. "Will you stop staring at my breasts?" I snarl loudly.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” He feigns innocence, his eyes widening ever-so-slightly. But he’s not fooling anyone with that polite lilt in his voice. He’s a closet perv.
I poke an accusatory finger in his direction. “Don’t you ma’am me! I caught you staring at my breasts! I’m a mother. Not a toy!” I jab at my left boob as the people at the surrounding cash registers turn our way. “These breasts weren't made to be playthings for grown-ass men. Nature designed them to sustain life, to nourish our young ones. I'm pretty sure that bulls don't go around objectifying cow tits. They understand what udders were made for. But men have a hard time grasping the concept. Your mother would be so ashamed of you!”
I’m breathless and my pulse thumps franticly by the time I’m done vocalizing my inner rant. For added effect, I shake my head at him in disgust.
My Wayne State Women’s Studies professor would be proud of me.
The boy furrows his brows and watches me like I'm a nut job. "Uh, Mrs. Trotten, there's a huge tag poking up out of your shirt," he informs me in a flat, dry tone.
My eyes travel down to my chest where I discover that not only is my shirt on backward, it's inside out, too. And a trio of clothing tags are on display.
Good god! I’m a damn fool!
My cheeks roast with shame. It feels like the entire tow
n has slowed to a standstill to watch me freak out on the poor cashier.
The manager pops up over his employee’s shoulder. “Mrs. Trotten, is there a problem here?” He glares at the cashier. “Tommy isn’t giving you any trouble, is he?”
I cringe at the idea of the poor kid getting reprimanded because of my hasty assumptions. My gaze dips to the floor as I back away from the checkout counter. “No trouble at all,” I say with an unconvincing smile. “Just a little misunderstanding on my part.”
People lean close to each other, hands cupping their mouths as they whisper among themselves.
Gracie Trotten is freakin’ crazy.
Did you hear that she and her husband are done?
Good for him. She’s a loon.
At least that’s what I imagine them saying.
Trying to balance Sebastian on my hip, I snatch awkwardly at my grocery bags. The manager’s grim expression stays trained on me the whole time. I need to get the hell out of here. I mumble an apology to the nice young man at the cash register before hightailing it back to the safety of my minivan.