Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
My heart slips in, interrupting my gloomy thoughts: He really seemed to care about you. He was so tender and generous. And the sex was phenomenal. There was a connection.
My brain fights her with… Um… he’s a billionaire? Who can, like, have any woman he wants? And he’s had you. So you’re done.
Brain wins.
“Okay, so it was a one-night thing. I got ten grand. My rent is paid, my ass got laid, and now I can write my story.” Shaking it off, I stretch my fingers, ready to attack. Planting my ass in my chair, I start to type.
Morning quickly turns to afternoon.
I’ve got four chapters, and my stomach is growling. Remembering that I’m flush with cash, I decide to take a break, and head out to my favorite Indian place for takeout. A delicious reward for hard work.
Just as I’m locking my door, my cell rings. A little pitter patter interrupts the rhythm of my heart. It couldn’t be him, could it?
Hope fills my chest as I pull my phone from my purse, checking the screen. It’s Sarah, my publisher. Disappointment floods me, but I’m able to release a deep breath; at least I have good news for her.
“Sarah! Listen, I’m so glad you called. I finally got through that terrible writer's block and I started a book. It’s wonderful, about a billionaire and a hot tub and—”
She cuts me off. “Katie. Billionaires are out. So over. The extraordinary has become ordinary. That’s why I’ve called. We’ve got this great pitch for you. Something new, totally taboo, yet going mainstream, as we speak.”
“Yes?” My keys hang from my hand as I wait to see if I should go straight back into the apartment to type, or head out for food.
“Okay, hold onto your panties because they might melt right off your body. Are you ready?”
What is she going to say? Cosplay? I cringe, thinking of Miranda’s words on stage, telling her girls to remain professional no matter what. “Yes. Please, just tell me.”
I can hear her exhale of breath, the excitement in her tone. “Daddy dom.”
“Um, excuse me?” My face goes white hot.
“I know, I know! It sounds twisted but hear me out. It’s not like the man is your father—he’s just this hot, ultra-protective dude that wants to spoil you and—”
“Spank you?” I murmur, more to myself than to Sarah.
She pauses for a beat. I can picture her face as she mulls over the idea, a pen in the corner of her mouth, another one holding up a twist of her auburn hair. A finger tapping on the desk, her gaze staring at the ceiling through her dark rimmed glasses. “Well, I didn’t think of that, but yes, spanking could be hot. Let me run it by our publicist but… hmm… it’s getting a little warm in here—yes, that could work.”
I’m going to write a bestseller.
Scenes and words burst into my mind, my fingers suddenly needing to connect with my computer keys. I’ve got to get off the phone. “Sarah? It sounds fantastic. I’ll get right to working on it. Got to go!”
Unlocking my door, I kick it shut with my foot and fling my purse onto the bed. Phone still in hand, I place a quick delivery order for a liter of Cola and a Chicken Tikka Masala then fall into my chair.
It’s midnight by the time I’m done editing. Takeout boxes litter the room, the scent of curry in the air. I do a quick clean up, tossing the trash in the bin.
I close my computer, a satisfied smile creeping over my face. Pumping a fist in the air, I say, “I did it! Scarlet Rose is back in business.”
Crawling under the covers, I find my eyelids heavy, my mind peaceful.
And the face of Darius Morrow floating in my dreams.
After spending only one night with him, I find it strange to be in bed without him. I miss his big arms wrapped around my body. Then I remember his words, You signed a contract, Katie. Mine for one night.
And that's all it was... one perfect night. I’ve got to let him go. Eventually, I drift off, visions of penthouse and daddy in my mind.
The next morning, I shower and dress in my usual writing uniform of yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Order in breakfast because I can afford it. Coffee, orange juice, scrambled eggs, and banana pancakes are delivered to my door.
Though eating alone isn’t quite as much fun as dining with daddy. I bite my lip, and the memory of Darius floods me.
Would he take me back? Does he want me?
As I nibble at my food, I gaze over the first part of my book, a victory smile on my face. I can’t believe my luck, that the market is lusting after the very experience I’ve just had.