Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 85443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
"Prue?" a male voice said from my side, making me jump. No one addressed me. I hadn't exactly gone out of my way to make friends with the other staff members. One, because I was sure I was out of there soon. Two, because making friends had just never been a strength of mine. So no one ever really spoke to me save for Byron and Ella when I happened into her kitchen. And, on an occasion or two, a guard but only because I had addressed them first.
I turned my head to see one of the guards, one I hadn't ever spoken to before, standing there in a suit looking at me. He was good looking. I swear everyone in his employ was attractive in their own kind of way. Even Ella, who was deep into middle age, was a looker with her long, curly brown hair, and huge doe-eyes. This guard was tall and wide with a former football player body, chestnut hair that he kept a little on the long side, giving him the look of perpetually needing a trim, and soft gray eyes. "Yeah?" I asked after a long second.
"You're with me today," he informed me, not bothering to make it sound like something he was pleased about. I didn't even get the slightest curve of a smile.
"Um. I'm sorry, what?" I asked, shaking my head slightly like I misheard him.
"Byron said he wants you out of his hair today. So you're with me."
Out of his hair?
Out of his hair?
After that little display up in his bedroom?
Oh, the bastard.
I exhaled hard enough for it to be considered a sigh, chastising myself for ever believing he could ever be anything but that. There was a nagging, annoying, clueless little voice in the back of my head that suggested that maybe Byron had a good reason for brushing me off onto one of his guards. But I told that voice to shut the hell up because, really, he had warned me the night before to not get my hopes up about him. And there I was- hoping like a fool again.
"What's your name?" I asked his back because he had totally just turned away from me and expected me to follow like a puppy. And, well, maybe I did that for his boss, but he and I were were on (almost) equal footing. I'd be damned if I just fell into line because he expected me to.
He turned back, looking annoyed at the question. "Matt."
"Okay, Matt. Well, let's get this out of the way, shall we? I don't work for you. You don't give me orders. If Mr. St. James mistakingly gave you the impression that you can somehow just order me around, well, as I said... it was a mistake. So you can nicely tell me what you have in mind for the day... or you can kindly go ahead and kiss my ass."
To that, his lips twitched slightly. "Guess he was right about you," he said and I imagined he was lectured about my being difficult. Which was fine. I was okay with that. "I'm gonna show you around the grounds then you're gonna run errands with me."
"Errands? You're an errand boy?" I asked, trying and failing to keep myself from smiling.
"I do what I am paid to do," Matt said simply. "Now, if you wanna go to the store like that, fine by me, honey. You'll make me look good. If not, you have five minutes to get into something else."
"Christ. Does he buy you guys in bulk? Is there some Assholes-R-Us store around to pick up a truck load of you?" I asked, brushing past him toward the stairs because, yeah, there was no way I was stepping out of the house in my whore's uniform. So I ran upstairs, stripped out of all my uncomfortable clothes that were, with time, almost becoming comfortable. Almost. I grabbed a pair of gray wash skinny jeans and an old black Disney villains t-shirt. I slipped into bright yellow ballet flats, tied up my hair, and grabbed my wallet. Because, well, if we were hitting the store, I wanted to be able to pick up some things.
With that, I ran back down the stairs, keeping my pace brisk but not overly hurried so he didn't think I was being a good little follower. "Fucking serious with that getup?" he asked, shaking his head as he looked me up and down from my shoes to my hair.
"Yep. Are we going?" I asked, maybe a bit of eagerness in my voice.
While, true, I had gotten out the night before, the thrill of it was buried deep under the emotional upheaval that took place. It would be nice to get away. Even if that meant I had to deal with Matt's surly ass. At least I didn't have to worry about having the irrational desire to jump Matt's bones like I did with Byron. Plus, the literal distance might give me a chance to create some real figurative distance with Byron. I needed perspective. I needed to get my head on straight.