Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 151430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
“That’s what you’re paying me for.” I nod. “It’s fine. I’m glad all this acting is paying off,” I lie.
And it’s not the glad part I’m lying about. It’s the acting.
When I’m alone with him in his stripped-down wonder, nothing feels like pretend anymore.
He’s quiet for a minute.
“Paige, I want this to be your victory, too. Is Brandt Ideas still in your future? You’re going to be a millionaire. I’m not sure why it would be.”
“I don’t know,” I say slowly. “I’m still trying to get through one day at a time.”
“Have you thought about what you’ll do with the money? It’s none of my business, of course, but you should consider investing anything left over from the studio. If you need help with that, I have people who get paid very well to beat the market.”
“Thanks. I haven’t figured that out either, but I do know this will be the first time where I’m fully in charge of my life.”
He smiles, his dark hair hanging over his eyes, dousing my heart in flames.
“Hard to believe. Seems like you’ve been in charge for a while.”
“My parents met at college. It was kind of expected that my sister and I would go to Northwestern, too. So, I just did. I majored in art. They wanted another MBA. There was always this pressure to keep up with the other side of our family...”
“Oh, yeah. Your pop star cousin and the author, right?”
“Yep. They hoped I’d somehow wind up with money like Milah and Liv, but without the scandals, much less the dangerous situations they were in,” I tell him. “Dad would’ve helped me set up an art business after I graduated, but I didn’t want to owe my parents anything. I signed up with freelance agencies a semester before I graduated and tried to build clients. Graphic design and websites were still art, but it’s not my thing. Brandt Ideas was closer to my interests, and I loved working with Beatrice. But I don’t get the chance to create for myself as often as I’d like.”
“You’re stubborn as hell, and that’s a compliment. Grit’s one thing money can’t buy,” he says, his eyes flashing with this mad respect that warms every bit of me. “So you’d go straight for sculpture if you get your own studio, huh?”
I nod, secretly flattered he remembers.
“Do you have anything I can see? Examples?”
“Yeah, my phone’s on the lounge chair. Hang on.”
We climb out of the pool together. He picks up the oversized towel I left on the chair and wraps it around me, melting those goosebumps with a heat so divine it hurts.
My thighs pinch together as I grab my phone, open my photo album, and hand it to him.
“Here,” I say. “Have a look.”
He winces as he slides his finger across the screen a few times, taking in my early works.
“What?” I start laughing at how pained he looks and slap his chest. “You’re adorable. You must have found some abominations. It’s funny watching you try to keep a straight face.”
“Were you trying to butcher Tim Burton?” he jokes.
“Practice makes perfect, Wardhole. Keep going.” I wait, watching anxiously as he flips on through the gallery.
His expression softens. “Hmm. This looks like the piece in front of one of the corporate buildings Grandma designed. She modeled it after the Trojan horse.”
I lean over to see what he’s talking about and grin. The real horse statue has perennial flowering vines falling down from inside, a homage to hidden peace instead of grim-faced warriors exploding out the belly.
“Oh, yeah, I used hers for inspiration, but I had a hard time mimicking the plants as you can see.” I shrug. “At least it’s recognizable.”
“Paige, you’re the best fake fiancée a man could ask for, but whatever you decide...you’re talented enough to be the best anything else too.”
“Am I really—I mean, the best fake fiancée?”
“Definitely.”
Oh, man. Whatever he’s thinking, he’s so not joking anymore.
I stare at his lips. There isn’t much space between us.
It would be so easy to taste him, to run my hands up and down his body like I wanted to so badly the first night I found him shirtless.
It sucks when Brina’s right. I should kiss him, and I should love it.
I’ve never been shy with men.
But Ward Brandt isn’t any man, and that’s what makes him so wildly intimidating, a walking question mark.
Why do I feel so anxious, so riled, so afraid every time I imagine where one more unruly kiss could lead?
18
Sunset Cruise (Ward)
Until last night, I never knew I’d signed away my soul.
But when I burst back in my room that night, there was no stopping the eruption. Swimming trunks down, hand against the wall, teeth grinding with her name burned on my lips, and my fist pumping my cock with my pulse beating in my ears.