Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I have a visceral reaction to seeing someone being victimized and my reaction is not to look the other way. Why is that hard to understand?
“They were really going to town on him.”
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “You need a man badly. You need someone to keep you busy, so you stay out of trouble. Was he cute at least?”
“Eh…I guess.”
Technically, he was––for an inanimate object.
“You guess?” More eyeballing from her. “What’s his name?”
“Joey Nobody.”
She tosses the eyelash curler down on the coffee table amongst the rest of the makeup and picks up a tube of mascara. “Did you even bother getting his name?”
“Of course, I did. I went to his apartment.”
She stops applying the mascara and leans back. “You what?”
“I drove him to his apartment.” This gets me more disbelief and a lot of blinking. “He’d been hit in the face a few times, V. I couldn’t just leave him there.”
“Drove him in what? Your jalopy pickup truck can’t make it down a block.”
“His Bentley.”
The multiple emotions that cross her face would be funny if I wasn’t on pins and needles. “What’s his name, bitch?” she says grabbing her phone.
“Don’t Google him.”
“Name.”
“Jordan West.” A few taps of her perfectly manicured nails on her phone and she freezes. “It doesn’t even sound real,” I hear myself muttering.
I watch her brown eyes widen and her perfectly shaped eyebrows climb up her flawless forehead. “Are you kidding me?”
“What?”
“This guy?” She shoves the phone at me, inches from my face. On the screen of her phone…yep, there he is. “You drove this hot meal of a man to his apartment?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“Sweet JC, he’s hot. It’s like a unicorn made a baby with the devil.”
“A bit of an overstatement.”
“It’s like Brad Pitt mated with the God of Death and created this delightful creature.”
“Whatever.”
But now, admittedly, my curiosity is whet. “Who is he and why are his pictures Googleable?” I pop a few Reese’s Pieces in my mouth and await her answer.
“He’s a rich guy and he’s hot. What other reason does there need to be?”
“Anything else?”
“He’s a tech guy.” She reads some more. “Invented some code thingie and ten times hotter than the Facebook dude. I don’t see a wife either. Please tell me you got his number.”
“Yeah, sure, right after I gave him my rap sheet.”
“You don’t have a rap sheet.”
“Thanks to your father I don’t––but I should.”
In my defense I was dealing with the death of my father and a mother who could hardly cope. Back then, the only person who I could depend on was Tommy. Which is why, when it comes down to it, I will always take care of him.
“You should’ve gotten his number and given it to me.”
Rich and good-looking is definitely her type. Veronica is one of those annoyingly positive people who wholeheartedly believes that if you want something bad enough, and go after it, you will achieve it. I’m more of a cynic.
“This isn’t one your Billionaire and the Nanny books, dude. Besides, no loss. He’s about as charming as a razor blade. I’ve had more fun smashing my thumb with a hammer.”
“Who said anything about talking?”
I’ve never been a fan of casual sex. I can’t have some stranger’s skin touching the inside of my skin without knowing the basics. Like his middle name, how often he changes his underwear, and whether he’s ever engaged in revenge porn. No judgement, but I can’t do it.
“Real question––” my best friend says, looking quasi-serious. “Do you ever feel the need to see a real penis up close? In addition, would you remember how to operate one if you did?”
“I saw one the other night.” Shrug. It’s the truth. Not the truth she’s looking for but the truth, nonetheless.
Vern throws me a look I rarely see on her––a confused one. Then the light turns on, and her expressions brightens. “You did?”
She assumes I mean West. “Yeah, the homeless dude on 23rd street was pissing on the street corner as I was walking by. He gave me great demo on how to operate one.”
“You’re hopeless,” she grumbles as she finishes applying mascara. “I’m doing corn rows on you tonight.”
“You can’t,” I tell her. Here comes the boom.
“Why not?”
“He offered me a job and I’m going to take it.”
“A job? The rich hot guy?” Despite the situation being deadly serious she manages to make me laugh. “Doing what? God, I hope it’s something dirty.”
“As a personal assistant.”
“Huh? Why the hell would you want to take a job like that when you have your own business?”
I can’t tell her about Tommy. She’ll either flip out on me, or tell her father, and as well-meaning as he is, I can’t have Dom getting involved. Ivan DeloRusso is no Tony Soprano, but he’s also no joke. I would never forgive myself if Dom got hurt.