Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Watching him, a surge of want curled inside my groin, surprising me. I’d always assumed, if I ever met the reclusive billionaire, that I would dislike him.
Reason #1: He'd been impossibly wealthy ever since he was a teen. With decades of being waited on and catered to—it was a tried-and-tested incubator for an asshole.
Reason #2: He was impossibly intelligent. I'd expected the ego to match the brains, producing a pompous, arrogant nerd, the type who'd spout off intricate facts while staring at my breasts.
What I didn't expect was everything that he was not. Quietly confident. Unassuming. Gorgeous, with intense interest that didn't play games.
He glanced away from Yand for a moment, and everything stopped as our eyes caught and held. He broke the contact and extended a hand toward Yand, ending their conversation with a polite smile. He moved toward me and I couldn’t look away. I could only watch as he stalked across the room until he was standing before me, his gaze warm as I tried my best not to swoon into his arms.
His arrival halted the conversation at my table. I glanced at Anne, whose mouth was half-open, her crab cakes forgotten. "Excuse me, please," I murmured, rising to my feet as Brant pulled out my chair. The circle of vultures watched closely, hopeful for a scrap of gossip to feast on. Brant led the way and we escaped toward the rear doors.
"Thank you for your help with Yand," he said softly, his head lowered toward me.
"Thank you for saving me from those women," I whispered, smiling politely as I passed Nora Bishop, a woman I was fairly certain had spent most of the last decade on her back, beneath my father.
As we approached the exit, I realized how much I wanted this man. I thought briefly of the rumors—the prostitutes—and then the heat of his hand moved from the small of my back to my elbow. He controlled with courtesy, and I wanted more. Needed more. Then, we were outside and alone on the balcony, the warm summer night bringing a balmy breeze that smelled of ocean and summer. There, his hand left my arm, and I was able to have a moment of clear thought.
I rested my elbows on the rough balcony ledge, the cut of concrete comforting against the finery of ridiculous wealth. Every bit of this was such a show. We spent the entire year fundraising for children who would cry over the prospect of new sneakers, then shelled out a hundred thousand dollars on a party. I turned and looked back at the full-length windows that rose three stories and showcased the entire production in all of its false glory. Then I glanced at Brant, handsome elegance cased in tuxedo black, a picture that belonged to this world combined with a man I felt was above it. "Was it worth it?" I nodded at the party and glanced over at him, his profile strong, his eyes on the horizon, the glow of exterior torches flickering across the handsome shadows of his face. "Dealing with this crowd for a chance at Yand?"
"It was worth it as soon as I saw you." Soft words but with a dramatic impact.
I smiled and stepped up on the thin ledge, one that allowed me to lean over the balcony and put my face fully into the wind. "You don't know me." I don't even know myself.
"No, I don't." He said the words mildly, as if the concept was unimportant.
I turned and watched him. His features were calm, and he was so poised and undeterred. It was as if my attraction to him was unimportant, either due to confidence or because he didn't care if we ever saw each other again. The path of confidence was the option I preferred; the other was a problem. I was unaccustomed to denial, to losing; the thought of being discarded was difficult to comprehend. I didn't know who I was, what I wanted, but I knew I was desired by men. I had nothing, if not that self-assurance. I swallowed a foreign seed of insecurity. "Let's get out of here."
That turned his head. Hands in his pockets, he moved closer, enough for me to smell his cologne, an expensive scent that made me think of yachts and cigars. "Where do you want to go?"
I faced forward, closed my eyes against the ocean breeze, and exhaled. "Out of here."
Chapter 3
We hopped the balcony fence on the far end, where there was a staircase that was closed off for the party, the tiny act of rebellion perfect in its ridiculousness. I removed my heels, our dash down the stairs almost Cinderella-like in its execution, his strong hand pulling mine, our fingers interlocking when we reached the bottom. I tried to gather the bulk of my dress; the expensive fabric now ruined at the bottom. Giving up, I looked for my driver, the sea of mostly black cars in the lot signifying our lack of ability to diversify in any way. My Rolls rolled forward out of the pack as a bellman stepped forward and opened the door with a white glove. "Ms. Fairmont," the young man said stiffly.