Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 94546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
With Silas speechless and every pair of eyes in the room on him, Jack’s fury lessens from a boil to a simmer before he spins on his heels and makes a beeline for the closest exit.
“Get him out of here,” he demands to Fitz a second before he bursts through a door hidden by a thick velvet curtain. “Out. Now.”
The security officers manning a bank of security cameras leap from their seats and race for the door. The leather chair of the closest officer is still warm when Jack plonks me into it before moving for a first-aid kit on a stack of filing cabinets.
“What are you doing? Who’s injured?”
My eyes stray to the bank of monitors, anticipating a victim to be seen, so you can picture my shock when Jack snags my arm and twists it to face him. There are nail indents in my skin. They’re thin, and have barely pierced my skin, but Jack acts as if I’ve been mauled by a bear.
He cleans them with antiseptic ointment before carefully placing Band-Aids over them.
The guilt marring his handsome face clears once the marks are covered, but the pain in his voice hasn’t eased in the slightest. “I didn’t mean to grab you so hard. I was just desperate to get you away from him.”
“Desperate enough to spend thirty million dollars to make sure our lives didn’t cross paths?”
When his eyes lift to mine, the pain in them shreds me raw. Thirty million dollars is chump change compared to how much he’d spend to keep me safe.
“Is he the reason you’ve been pushing me away the past few days?”
Before he can answer me, one of the monitors on my right answers on his behalf. After breaking through an emergency exit door at the side of the gala, Silas pulls himself out of Fitz’s hold before snagging a cigar out of the breast pocket of his tuxedo. It isn’t just his movements that give him away, but also the fancy diamond-encrusted cutter he uses to chop off the top of his cigar. I’ve seen it before.
“He was on the ferry.” I sling my eyes to Jack. “The morning you started withdrawing. He was on the ferry. I saw him…” When recognition flares in Jack’s eyes, I mutter, “And so did you.” His silence is more answering than any words he could speak. “Why, Jack? Why did you let him come between us?” The hurt I’ve been experiencing the past few days is projected in my low tone. “I thought I had done something wrong. That I was pushing you for too much too quickly.”
“No, Tivy. You weren’t. I was the one pushing. It was just…”
“Just…” I prompt, hating that I’m pushing but incapable of holding back.
He rakes his fingers through his hair before shifting his eyes to the bank of monitors. I don’t know what he sees, but it puts his barriers back up faster than I can snap my fingers. “I can’t discuss this here.” The droop of my shoulders from the belief our conversation is over doesn’t linger for long when Jack mutters, “I need you to come with me.”
“Where?”
The unease suffocating the air of oxygen shouldn’t make his smile so endearing but try as I may, I can’t ignore how quickly it alters the tension to excitement. “I wasn’t meant to show you this until tomorrow, but for the commission alone, I’m sure she’ll entertain the idea of a late-night exchange.”
Before I can ask him what the hell he’s on about, he plucks me from my seat, guides me out of the office, then commands for Fitz to have his limousine pulled to the front of the gala.
CHAPTER 22
OCTAVIA
Flashing bulbs and the bright lights of the cameras recording our every move blinds me when Jack exits the gala via the entrance he used when we arrived. Although he weaves us through the paparazzi like Fitz and Caleb’s job description needs altering, we still get flung a range of questions.
“Jack, who is your mystery date?”
“Would you care to elaborate on why you’re leaving festivities early?”
“Mr. Carson, this way. Please. One shot, and we’ll leave you alone.”
Jack keeps moving, his steps only slowing when one deep voice asks, “Is it true you founded this charity because you have first-hand experience in what the recipients are going through?”
My heart sinks when Jack retaliates to the man’s insensitive question. He grabs the snickering pap by the shirt before bringing him to within an inch of his face. I’m anticipating for him to let go of my hand so he can ram his spare into his heckler’s face, so you can imagine my shock when he simply snatches the media credentials from the pap’s neck, stuffs them into the pocket of his trousers, then continues until we reach the limousine behind the story-hungry group.