Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Good luck filling it,” I say.
Joshua’s face turns beet red. He clenches his free fist and glares at Banks. Whatever composure he’s managed to maintain has been eroded by the alcohol and the loss of control of the situation.
Like he ever had control to begin with. Asshole.
“Did you know that I was fucking your fiancée two weeks ago? Yeah, for most of this year, she was sucking my cock while apparently leading you on. Just thought I’d share.”
He smirks, thinking he got one over on Banks.
Banks’s eyes flood with fire but he stays cool, pulling me closer to him.
“That was you?” He laughs and looks at me. “Babe. What were you thinking? This is the guy you were with? He isn’t even your type.” He winks. “Although, you did say you were pity fucking for a while now, so now that makes sense.”
I laugh, amused at how well Banks is playing this off. Except … he’s not. He wants to rip Joshua’s throat out.
“Your fiancée is a little whore,” Joshua spits, upping the ante to get the reaction he wants.
Banks smiles menacingly. “It will take a little more than that—a little more sophistication—to get me to react here. Don’t get me wrong. I’d absolutely love the experience of sending your nose crashing into your cranium with my fist, and if you’d like to arrange that later, I’m more than willing to open my calendar. Do you need my business card?”
“Fuck you,” Joshua says.
The two large men from earlier arrive just before Banks cuts the distance between himself and Joshua. My heart pounds as I watch the scene develop in front of me.
I grab Banks’s arm and hold tight. What’s going on?
“We’ve been sent by Mr. Petterson, Mr. Eubanks,” the man with the mustache says.
Joshua stands tall. “Does he want to see me? Where is he?”
“He’s requested we escort you out. And we’d like to do that as quietly as possible, but it’s up to you, of course,” the other man says.
“What?” Joshua stammers, his eyes wide.
“This way,” Mustache Man says, encouraging Joshua to head toward the exit.
“Call me,” Banks says, grinning ear to ear.
I glance around the room until my gaze lands on Mr. Petterson. He’s standing by the fireplace with a group of men and subtly nods to me before returning to his conversation.
I sag in relief, leaning against Banks.
“Looks like my job here is done,” Banks says. There’s a levity in his voice that barely masks the hesitation.
My heart pulls. “Your work here, Mr. Carmichael, has just begun.”
He looks down and grins. “Is that so?”
“Dance with me?”
His smile softens. It’s the one he only uses for me. “I’d love to.”
22
Sara
“Looks like my job here is done.”
We slip through the darkness quietly. No radio. No conversation. Just Betsy’s engine growling when Banks hits the gas. I rest my head on the seat, Banks’s hand on my thigh, and watch the moon hang in the sky.
Banks’s words from tonight echo through my mind. Although I disagreed and told him he’d just begun, the hesitation in his blue orbs remained. There was a faint edge of uncertainty through the night, through his smiles and jokes. As if he were right—his role as my fake fiancé was finished.
I cover his hand with mine, stroking his flesh with my thumb. He gives my thigh a gentle squeeze.
“What was your plan?”
“To make you want to be with me.”
The thing that scares me the most is that I believe him.
And it’s humiliating that I’m unsure how to handle his faith in me.
How could he possibly want to be with me? How is he so confident in assessing my character that he knows this for certain? How can he ensure I’m emotionally capable of handling a relationship?
Because I’m not sure. Not really.
But Banks seems to look at me, and he either doesn’t see my flaws or chooses to overlook them. That makes me nervous that I’ll slip up and prove him wrong.
And I don’t want to prove him wrong.
Even though I’ve only spent the past week in their orbit, I want to belong there. I want … I want what Ashley has, if I’m honest. I want the Carmichaels.
I want to be worthy of the Carmichael family.
I want them to want to include me in Christmas pictures and be proud to introduce me to their friends. I want so badly to share their inside secrets and jokes, and be on the receiving end of their pranks. I want to fit in with their brand of family more than I want my next breath.
“Big day tomorrow,” he says, his voice breaking the silence.
“Really? What’s going on?”
He smirks. “My brothers and I are racing.”
I pull my brows together. “Racing cars? Are you racing Betsy?”
He laughs. “No. We’re racing man to man. There’s a sign that measures your speed going out of town, and we’re all meeting there to see who is fastest.”