Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 88228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“What’s wrong, Braden?”
“A key negotiation fell through.”
“At midnight?”
“In China. I need to do damage control.”
“Can’t you do it from here?”
“If I could, do you think I’d be flying to New York in the middle of the night?”
Good point. “What about Ben or your dad?”
“I run this company, Skye. You know that.”
“Can’t you delegate? Your father and Ben are perfectly capable of—”
“You’ve met my father and Ben once. You know nothing about them other than what you gleaned from one evening with them. Please don’t presume to tell me how to run my company. You’re a photographer, Skye. You don’t know the first thing about my business.”
My mouth drops open. Maintain control, Skye. But I can’t. I begin to lose it. I feel the dreaded tears welling in the bottom of my eyes.
No. Just fucking no.
“Don’t insult my intelligence,” I say.
“I’m not insulting anything.”
“The hell you’re not.”
He meets my gaze, his own cold. So cold. “This is business. My business. I’m not insulting you when I tell you that you don’t know anything about it. I’m simply being truthful.”
“But I don’t understand—”
“That’s right. You don’t understand. This is something I need to take care of, and yes, I need to take care of it now. Now get out of bed and get dressed. We’re leaving as soon as you’re ready.”
“If you’d just explain—”
“For God’s sake, I don’t have time to explain. You’re not hearing me, Skye. You asked me earlier why I made you concentrate on one sense. For someone who just learned to hear this evening, you’re not hearing me now.”
My mouth drops open once more.
This is my life now? Braden tells me to do something, and I’m supposed to just do it? On blind faith?
“Your control over me in the bedroom doesn’t extend to—”
“Damn it!” He scoops me off the bed and forces me to stand. “Hear me, Skye. We’re leaving. We’re leaving now.”
And it dawns on me.
I don’t have a choice. Braden canceled the plane ticket that Eugenie booked for me. My only way to get to New York to make my meeting on Monday is his private jet. Either that or fly standby, and I can’t take the chance of not getting a flight. I could take a train, but I don’t have a ticket. They might be sold out at this late date. Besides, I hate trains. I could drive, but I’d have to rent a car since I don’t own one. This meeting is too important. His jet can’t fly me to New York tomorrow if it’s already in New York.
Checkmate. He wins.
I leave tonight.
I nod with resignation, pick up my clothes—luckily, he didn’t destroy any of them tonight—and leave his bedroom silently. I walk naked to the stairway, not caring if Christopher or anyone else sees me, and head into my personal bedroom. I walk to the bathroom.
My reflection greets me in the mirror.
My makeup is smeared, and my hair is a tangled mess. Definitely a just-fucked look.
But something else catches my eye.
A look of defeat.
This is ridiculous, Skye. You’re not defeated. It’s business, and he can’t help it. He needs to take care of business. You’d do the same. You haven’t lost control. This is just business, and if you want to get to New York for your meeting, you have to go with him now.
All true. All very true.
Why is ceding control so difficult for me?
Is this another one of Braden’s tests?
I shake my head at myself in the mirror. No. He’s not that manipulative. Is he? Who in his right mind would stage a crisis where he had to leave for New York in the middle of the night?
No one.
Not even Braden Black.
Except I’m not sure. Braden gets what he wants, and what he wants is my control. Not just in the bedroom.
I can refuse to go, but that’s cutting off my nose to spite my face. I need to get to New York, and this is the one sure way. Otherwise it’s the bus or train because I can’t depend on getting a flight on standby.
I sigh. Time to get ready. Because if I don’t, I have no doubt Braden will come knocking on my door, making more demands of me.
I hastily cleanse my face of the smeared makeup, wash all other necessary parts, and dress in the clothes I wore to dinner earlier. I pull my hair into a high ponytail and then leave the room. My jacket and purse are still in Braden’s bedroom.
I walk—not overly slowly but not overly quickly, either—down the stairs.
Braden stands by the elevator, holding my purse and jacket. He hands them to me. “Let’s go. Christopher’s waiting downstairs.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
If I didn’t know I was on a private jet, I’d be certain I was in a luxury apartment. Granted, a very narrow luxury apartment, but a luxury apartment nonetheless.