Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
I wasn’t. I was merely…
I don’t know what the fuck it was.
Nothing makes sense to me anymore. It is one lot of confusions after another.
After downing half her coffee, Jess nurses it in her hand while asking, “What’s with the suit? Did someone die?”
I had wondered the same thing when I tiptoed into my apartment last night. It looked like someone was in the process of cleaning up a massacre. There was just mousse everywhere instead of blood.
Jess’s eyes pop out of her head when I announce, “I got a job.”
“That’s amazing, Caleb. Where?”
I twist my lips before peering at the roof.
I can’t see Jess, but her almost gag is heard in her words when she spits out, “Please don’t say it is at Seattle Socialites. I see it floating for a couple of years with Jack at the helm, but it still has a long way to go before it will be classed as salvageable.”
Octavia was oblivious to the fact she was hooking up with her new billionaire boss until she arrived at Seattle Socialites HQ Monday morning. Although I was still apprehensive that Jack could be Jackson from the files Monday night, there’s only so much a man can go through before he is no longer a man.
My grandfather’s victims weren’t given the chance of a normal existence. They have commitment issues a mile long, and many of them went down the criminal route, so even though Jack has some issues that has me curious about his back story, he can’t be the man from the file.
His head is screwed on too straight for that.
“It isn’t with Seattle Socialites.” I stop, purse my lips, then try again. “Not technically.” When Jess stares at me, blinking and confused, I add, “Jack hired me to work with Octavia.”
I realize I’m not explaining myself very well when Jess asks, “On?”
“Not on. With.” I peer at the ceiling for the second time. “He wants me to shadow Tivy when he can’t.”
Her eyes are even larger now. “Does Octavia know about this?”
Her glare could cut through diamonds when I shake my head. “He’s telling her, though.”
She huffs under her breath before placing her now-empty coffee cup into the bin before spinning away with a murmur, “Better him than you.” My thigh muscles tense. “She won’t want to castrate Jack because she likes his cock.” She stares straight at my white face while muttering, “You, on the other hand…” My cock wilts away when her expression reveals the word she didn’t say.
While smiling a grin that has me convinced she noticed the reduction in my crotch size, she scoots past me before moseying down the hall. My eyes lift from the sultry swing of her hips to her face when she mutters, “Go to the bathroom now, Caleb, because none of the restrooms in the city are up to code, and I’m not pulling over on the freeway for you to pee on the tire.”
I’m not going to lie. The way she reads me so easily scares the shit out of me.
I don’t know if Fitz, the guy who’s been shadowing Octavia for the past three hours today, is a mind reader or if Jack told him about my hesitation in accepting his job offer this morning when he offered me a position.
Keeping Octavia safe is a regular occurrence for me. It is nothing out of the ordinary, but how do you explain that it is easier to do with the comforts of home close by?
I stumbled my way through an explanation, but instead of looking at me as if I have two heads, Jack said it wouldn’t be an issue.
I figured his reply was to get in Octavia’s good books, but Fitz has proved a liar out of me. My bladder only stabbed in pain for half a second before Fitz made an excuse to head to my side of town.
Well, I thought it was an excuse, but now I’m not so sure.
After latching my belt, I stray my eyes in the direction Fitz’s haven’t left for the past thirty seconds. Jess is standing on the corner of our building, looking uncomfortably out of place. I assume Fitz knows who she is until he snaps several photographs of her before sending them through to a mystery voice on the end of the wireless receiver in his ear.
“That’s Jessmina Arkwright,” I announce before Fitz’s private investigator can drag her name through the mud. “She’s no one to worry about. She’d never hurt Octavia.” I choke on my last word when a man with a seedy-looking mustache and big rancher hat sits on the bench next to Jess. He appears to be tying his shoe, but the movements of his lips don’t match his actions.
“What’s he saying?” I ask when Fitz hogs the binoculars.
“He has a file she wants. Won’t cost her anything.” Fitz pauses before finalizing. “Wants to meet up tomorrow afternoon near the docks.”