Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
The thing on my mind that I wasn’t admitting was taking more headspace than it should was the fact that Hale had texted the day before.
Again.
Why he wasn’t letting himself off the hook about this interview he never wanted in the first place, I did not know. And it wasn’t going to be me who let him off the hook. Oh no. Not officially.
But I wasn’t returning his texts, so unofficially, the guy should take a hint.
We’d made a deal almost a year before. The deal was, I’d kinda, sorta lay off his family, he’d give me an interview.
I couldn’t totally lay off his family. They were the most celebrated celebrities in the world. Even the ones who hadn’t sought that out, like Chloe Pierce and Judge Oakley.
But there were a great many different kinds of celebrity news, and it didn’t seem like Hale Wheeler had cottoned on to the fact I wasn’t a mudslinger.
Sure, I also wasn’t an objective journalist. But I wasn’t TMZ either.
Nugget of news: you could share gossip for a living and still be classy. I was proof of that (or I thought I was).
I had my key ready to put into the four locks on the door to the building where my studio was in Brooklyn, and with practiced ease, I was out of the New York autumn morning cold in no time.
I locked the door behind me and headed to the space in the sectioned off warehouse that I rented for my studio.
I had to unlock that door too (only three locks this time), and once inside, I practically ran into Chuck, my cameraman, who was for some reason right there and crowding me.
My space was small, but this was weird.
I looked at his face, and…great.
We’d probably been burgled.
It wasn’t like I had a ton of expensive equipment, but what I had was hard won. I had offers coming in, and they were healthier than I’d allowed myself to dream, but I hadn’t signed on any dotted line. So, for the foreseeable future, ongoing operating costs, and any expansion, was on me.
I didn’t have time to deal with police reports and insurance companies telling me how little they could actually replace seeing as some small line in their contract exempted them from doing what I paid them to do. Nor did I need to be shelling out to replace stuff.
“What’s up?” I warily asked Chuck.
“Hale Wheeler is here,” he whispered.
Oh no.
That was worse than being burgled.
My gaze flew beyond Chuck to my set which was a one-step dais on which sat a mint green velvet swivel chair with a glass-topped gold side table beside it. These were in front of a greenscreen backdrop we could make anything we wanted it to be. Though usually it was subtle pastel green and peach swirls against a soft white with the words “Elsa’s Exchange” repeated throughout.
And damn it all to hell, there he was.
Tall, ridiculously handsome, athletically built Hale Wheeler, the richest man in the world.
“He was here when I got here,” Chuck told me.
As he could be, since he’d bought the building.
He wanted to control what I said about his famous family.
I wanted the freedom to do my job.
These twains did not meet.
“I’ll take care of it,” I muttered to Chuck.
Even as I said that and moved around him, I felt Chuck shadowing me as I approached Hale Wheeler.
I couldn’t think on Chuck.
With his presence filling up the space, I had no choice but to be all about Hale Wheeler.
I mean, really. How was his existence even fair?
He was gorgeous. He had great taste in clothes. He was fit. He was fiendishly loyal to his family. And he had enough money to end food insecurity around the globe, and he might, because he wasn’t about being rich, he was about something else entirely.
All that and integrity too?
It was annoying.
“If it isn’t the Extraordinary Mr. Wheeler. To what do I owe this honor?” I asked.
His pale green gaze flicked to Chuck before it came back to me.
“Your office. Alone. Now.”
Four words. Each one of them uttered in a deep, rough growl.
For a moment, the only response I could focus on was what those words did to my nipples.
After I recovered from that, I noted he appeared ticked.
Although I’d been in the same place at the same time as him, I’d avoided him for reasons I refused to explore.
Nevertheless, I’d seen what could amount to hours of footage, not to mention thousands of photos of him going in and out of buildings, entering and alighting from cars, walking down sidewalks, attending events, and doing such things I normally blocked out, like surfing or eating dinner with a beautiful woman.
So much of all of this, it felt like I knew him.
Therefore, I could tell when he was angry.
Like, for instance, now.