Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“Painfully, because our fathers were—” She lifts a hand. “I still struggle to talk about it. But ultimately, I had to become bait, and Savage didn’t want to allow it to happen. And ultimately, he had to agree, and we caught the bad guys, got married, and lived happily ever after. I hope. It sure feels like I’m living my best life, though I worry about him. But Savage without Walker and the risks he takes would not be Savage.”
I ease onto a bar stool directly across from her. “Thank you for sharing that story. It offers me hope. I’ve loved Damion my entire life, and I mean that pretty darn literally. I need to know we can have our happily ever after.”
She reaches over and captures my hand. “You can. I promise. I know Savage is committed to helping anyway he can. The Walker team gets emotionally invested in those they help. You’re stuck with us all.”
A smile tugs on my lips. “Thank you, Candace.”
She smiles back, friendliness in the depths of her eyes. “And I love that you call Savage Little Bitch. He hates it. I love it.”
This draws a genuine laugh from me. “He loves you. I see it in how he looks at you.”
“As I’m sure Damion does you.” She softens her voice. “Alana, if you need to talk about last night, I’m here. It’s between us.”
I sigh heavily. “I appreciate that, I do, but there is nothing to talk about. I don’t remember much, and I don’t think anything happened. It was a head game, I think.” I go on to tell her about the wine cellar.
“He should have kissed you,” she murmurs, sipping from her coffee and smiling over the rim. “And you should have let him.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. We were very young. As much as I hate our separation, I think we were too young. And could you imagine how much that man would hate me if he found me in an embrace with his son that night?”
“The door was locked. He would never have caught you.” She sets her cup down. “Either way, that man has a reckoning coming.”
My cellphone rings, and I glance down to find Lana calling again. “That’s my assistant producer. She’s been calling like crazy. I need to take it.”
I answer the line, and Lana is beside herself. “I was worried when I couldn’t reach you.”
“I’m good. I’m fine.”
“Well, you have the studio’s attention. The press wants to talk to you so freaking badly that the studio wants to do a special interview with you. They want us to film today. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.”
This shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. I mean, it’s high-profile, but also connected to Damion’s father, who is incredibly powerful. “Aren’t they worried about being sued?”
“I didn’t ask. You shouldn’t either. I’m sending you over the contract. They’re paying big money for this. It’s insane how much. I can’t even say it out loud. Will you do it?”
She’s positively breathless, which tells me the money is life-changing to her. That’s the thing about showbiz. You can work really hard and make very little money. Cotton forms in my throat, thick and suffocating. My last “interview” led to my captivity, but I’ve done what I strived to do as well. I clearly punched his buttons. Desperate people do desperate things, and I believe I fall into that category, but so does Damion’s father.
“What time?”
“Three o’clock. It might run late.”
“I’ll be there.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Alana
After dismissing myself for a swift shower, Candace promises to stay close and drink lots of coffee while waiting for my return. It’s exactly what I would do, and despite all my worries and fears over Damion’s early, and rather secretive departure, I leave the room with a quirk of my lips that almost becomes a smile.
Soon after, warm water bordering on boiling, soothes the ache of my naked body, the hours of holding myself rigid inside the darkness of the concrete prison, ripe within my muscles and incessantly present. In an effort to draw on something beautiful, not cold and cavernous, I splurge and indulge in the use of the jasmine shampoo and conditioner gifted to me by a sponsor. I love the floral sweetness and luxuriousness of the products, but I barely dare use them as they’re wildly expensive. It had been impossible to afford such opulence when I’d been supporting my family. A roar fills my ears, my heartbeat throbbing in my temples.
There’s no more financial strain, no more demands.
My father is dead.
My mother is wicked and I swear by all that I am, on her own from this point forward.
But, oh, how I’d like to call her and suggest she join me for the interview. She could then explain to the world why we should believe that her lover didn’t kill my father. Maybe she knew. Maybe the gambling got to her, and she wanted my father gone—wanted the life insurance. And surely, she would have believed a car accident looked innocent.