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Chapter 59 - Dylan Ashford

Author: Peyton Iuga
last update Last Updated: 2024-10-29 19:42:56

Dylan POV

“Dylan, bro, you’re making a scene. Everyone is looking,” Fred whispers. He uses his hockey-player charm and smiles at people. I keep my eyes trained on Jo, who is looking way too comfortable in that asshole's arm.

“Hi, I’m Greg. You might remember me from the Hamptons house we used to play together?” The fucker says, and I look at him as I remember him. “I am Alma’s son,” I scrunch my nose as I remember perfectly the prick. He used to steal my toys. Fred was too young to play with us and Jude was always playing alone anyway while Richard, well, Richard, was always trying to get into the girl's pants.

“Pumpkin, what is going on here? I’ve been looking for you. Vogue wants us,” I hear Savannah’s voice as she talks next to me, resting her hand on my chest and the other one on my shoulder. I wrap one arm around Savannah’s wa

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    Dylan POV My phone rings in my pocket and I take it out to reject the call, but I see that is Richard calling. He never calls unless something is wrong. “Excuse me, I really need to take this,” I say before I kiss Savannah on the top of the head and walk out of the room. “I am kind of busy right now. What happened?” I ask, and I can hear Layla speaking on the other side. “Okay, you know that guy, Greg? He is bad news,” Richard says, and I take a deep breath as I shove my free hand into my pocket. “I know, he is Alma’s son. She tells me what he gets up to,” I say, and I can hear Layla on the other side. “Just tell him to get here now.” “Okay, what is going on? Where are you?” I ask and Richard gives me the directions to the room they are in before we end the call and I walk as fast as I can, raising no suspicions. I open the door and Layla

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    Jo POV “When can I expect the delivery? We are kind of in a hurry. I can pay extra if it means that they will deliver the chair today or tomorrow,” I let out to the sales assistant that is typing away on her computer. I just bought the most incredible feeding chair for the nursery. “The earliest we can deliver is next week,” she tells me without even glancing up. I take a deep breath and bump my head on the counter softly. She finally looks at me, and I smile. “Look, my best friend went into labour today, she wasn’t supposed to for a few weeks, I just want to have the nursery ready for when she comes home, and for that I need that chair,” I tell her trying to get her to feel sympathetic to the cause. “I am sure that the Ashfords will shop here often if I get things ready,” I say, throwing their surname out loud. I finally get her full attention. “Ashford? As in from the Ashford Media?” She asks and I nod. They are well known in New York, especially be

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