Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Rolling my eyes, I tilt my head back into the headrest. “What exactly are you asking me?”
“Well, I think you know what it is that I’m asking you. Don’t fight this, Isa. You could have done worse off. This is Bryant Royal for goodness sake.” Having about enough of this conversation, I hang up my phone in a huff. Bryant has already interfered with so much in my life. I dial Devon’s number, because, well, he’s all I really have as far as friends go. Aside from Jen, but she’s married with kids and will be jumping up and down to have me get with Bryant, so I could really do with Devon’s insight in this situation. I know I can’t disclose too many details to him right now, but he’s always been good at talking me off the cliff. And I feel very close to falling off the cliff right now. Maybe he has cooled down enough to talk some sense into me.
After the fourth time of him not answering, I throw my phone onto the seat beside me and glance out the window to all the passing trees and runners jogging through the streets. The cute couple walking their fluffy Labrador and the mom who is pushing her stroller down the street as her child licks his half-melted ice cream. Why couldn’t my life be this simple. As simple as strolling down the road on a relaxing Saturday morning? My life has never been simple or relaxing. Even when I was a little girl, Dad was non-existent, but yet somehow, he always managed to rule with an iron fist. My sister and I hardly had a life outside of our house and all though it didn’t bother her so much, it sure as fuck bothered me.
We pull up to a stop outside of Peppers, where Bryant lives in his massive penthouse. Once I’m out of the car, Jerry already has my bags out from the trunk.
“Thanks, Jer.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Not that it does reach his eyes a lot, but I can sense something is stressing him, so I ask, “What’s up, Jer?”
He cranks his neck and it looks like he’s trying to relieve some of the tension from his neck. “We will be in the suite beside you. You need anything, you know I’m on speed-dial and of course, there will be someone outside your door at all times.” I wanted to say how the one time I went back to this very place unprotected—probably my father’s doing what with him all excited that I was about to bed Bryant—was the time I got semi-kidnapped. But I don’t say that, of course, I just smile. “I know, Jer.” Ending my sentence with a light pat on his shoulder. The doorman who guards Peppers is a little on the old side, and I could probably outrun him if I wanted—if I didn’t hate cardio—but he seems nice enough.
Clearing my throat, I step forward and make my way toward the entrance. Walking through the glass doors, my phone vibrates in my pocket and I quickly shift hands to reach for it, excited that it might be Devon returning my call.
“Aw, you miss me and you’re done being shitty?” I purr down the phone.
“Isa, the code to the penthouse is 4566.” My smile drops instantly.
“Got it.” Hanging up my phone, I shove it back into my pocket, this time a little more on the angry side. Bryant pisses me off, yes, but do we fuck like machines? Also yes. But I hate him. I hate him with a fire so hot it could burn the freaking sun. That was dramatic, but you catch my drift. Bypassing the reception desk, I head straight to the elevator and push the up button. Watching the numbers slowly drop has my stomach all twisted. Fuck. I’m doing this. I mean, I’ve already pretty much done it, but this time I’m really doing it. As in, I’m about to have all my shit in his apartment, and I can’t go home.
This is fine, I can make it work. Bryant Royal doesn’t scare me, no not at all. I’m Isa Johnson. A fucking badass who eats men like Bryant Royal for breakfast, lunch, dessert and still have room for a side dude. He has nothing on me. Ding! The elevator doors slide open and I swallow past the ball of nerves that has set up in my throat. Fuck, I was thinking so much shit right then. I don’t have myself at all.
Stepping inside, I watch as the doors slowly slide closed, and I try to allow the soft melody of music to calm my chaotic thoughts and raging feelings. I have no options right now. Whatever Bryant has on me is relevant to my surviving this ordeal—that much I do know. The car ascends higher, along with my gut until it comes to a halt and the doors slip open again, the familiar charcoal walls and the rich mahogany wood on display, yet again.