Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 21693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
I’d been the extra girl they needed, because they didn’t have enough, the friend of the event organizer. A favor she needed. But I’d do anything for Patrice, so here I was.
I turned back around and stared at the building once more. I did a little bit of research on the “venue,” which was actually the residence of the St. James family, who also owned the St. James Distillery and were the healthiest family in the entire state.
The plantation-style house was gorgeous and reeked of money. It had large pillars in the front, looking straight out of Gone with the Wind. It had a sprawling, massive fountain in the center, an angel made out of stone reaching for the heavens as water sprayed all around her. The steps that led up to the main doors was wide, marbled. The driveway wrapped around the front in a circular pattern, allowing cars to come and go in an easy, quick formation. And the manicured lawn surrounding the property went out for as far as the eye could see. The accent lighting around the entire property had things lit up like we were at a damn baseball field, with only shadows hinting in the very far recesses of the property.
Luxury cars and limo scenes pulled up to the front, the doors being opened up by attendants waiting to do their job. Gorgeous people climbed out, the air of money surrounding them strong enough to choke you.
I took a deep, steadying breath, the air coming out slowly. I had a tiny clutch in my hand, my cell phone, ID, and some money tucked away inside. I wouldn’t need any of these things, but having them gave me a semblance of feeling like I was in control.
And in my other hand was my mask.
I took another deep, calming breath and slipped the mask over my face. It was all black with crystals beaded around the eyes and a little feather detailing around one corner, accenting it. It was a contrast to the green gown I wore.
I had to focus on not tripping over the dress, so I gathered up a section of the bottom in my hand and lifted it up. As it was, I couldn’t even walk in the damn thing, let alone the stilettos that were already killing my feet, so concentrating was taking extra effort.
I got to the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the main doors, a continuous stream of people walking by me, their chatter drowned out by the sound of my blood rushing through my veins. I really didn’t know why I was so nervous. This was a temporary situation, not a lifelong commitment.
But I had a feeling one of the main reasons I was so nervous was because I worried no man would find me attractive enough to bid on me. The anxiety that I’d be left standing on that stage, crickets sounding, not one dollar being thrown out for an evening with me, had me feeling lightheaded with worry.
I shook my head to clear the thoughts and tightened my grip on the dress. I took the first step and focused on the two men dressed in suits standing on either side of the open double doors, their matching expressions stoic. They looked like those guards in England that protected the queen, the ones who were like stone and didn’t even seem like they breathed.
I took another step, and another, and when I was nearly to the top, it was like the next moment slowed. My heel got caught on the back of the gown, and I felt myself going forward. I felt my eyes widen and my mouth part as I saw the ground rush up to greet me. My clutch fell from my grasp, because I reached out to brace myself for the impact. But before I face planted, I felt a strong grip on my waist pulling me back, my body moving farther away from the stone.
My heart was racing, and I felt adrenaline rush through my veins. I felt dizzy, my throat tight, beads of sweat starting to dot my temples. I was shifted on my feet so I was facing the person who’d saved me.
At first, my focus was trained on a very broad, very muscular chest wrapped up in an expensive tuxedo. My body was pressed against an all-male physique, and I instantly felt fire lick across my body.
I tipped my head back, let my gaze travel along his neck, over a clean-shaven, square-cut jaw, over full, masculine lips, up a straight, almost aristocratic nose, and gazed into eyes so blue they seemed to contradict his short, immaculately styled black hair. He had an olive complexion, Mediterranean in appearance, like the sun came down and kissed him personally.
“Thank you,” I said and blinked a few times. His expression was stoic, and the only thing that seemed alive, on fire, were those ice-blue eyes. The shade of his eyes was a starling contrast to his tanned skin, but the two complimented each other perfectly.