Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“The world doesn’t see her as a person, Decker. They see a name, a face. Her persona is an integral part of the worldview we’re entrenched in. She’s worshiped as much as she’s judged, and every person she meets ultimately uses her for self-gain. All of this comes with the job, but it makes the organic way of dating impossible.”
Reese Cromwell is a young, attractive guy with an obvious devotion toward this woman. There’s no wedding ring on his finger, and I bet part of that is because he’s married to this job. But I feel like there’s something else going on. Does he love her? If that’s the case, why the hell am I here?
“Are you fucking her?” I narrow my eyes.
“No.” He makes a face that’s difficult to interpret. Is that frustration? Disgust?
His boss is either ugly as hell or not interested in him. Given his winning looks, neither option bodes well for me.
He removes a document from the satchel sitting on the floor and hands it to me. The Infidelity logo embosses the top, followed by a list of hard limits. A name isn’t printed anywhere on the page.
“These are her limits?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I read through the thirty or so bullet points and deduce that she’s unwilling to be on the receiving end of pain, bondage, or anything that puts her in a submissive position. It’s identical to my own limits—the very ones I provided Infidelity. If she’s as aggressive as I am in bed, I don’t see how this is going to work.
“Are you good with her check list?” he asks.
Do I have a fucking choice?
“You already know I’m in this for the money.” Impatience hardens my tone as I give the document back to him. “I’ll respect her limits and do my best to make her happy for the contracted year.”
Slouched on the couch, he taps a finger on his knee and scans my body up and down. “Given the extent at which Infidelity investigated you, I trust their word that you’re a compatible companion for her. But there’s one thing I suspect they didn’t check.” His eyes find mine. “Show me your cock.”
Heat surges beneath my skin. “Go fuck yourself.”
He straightens and rises to his feet, shoulders back and chest out. I mirror his pose, expecting a testosterone-fueled confrontation. Instead, a grin spreads across his face.
What the fuck? I get the feeling his request was less about the size of my cock and more about my reaction. Apparently, I passed the test, because he nods at the closed door on the far side of the room.
“Ready to meet her?” He wings up a perfectly trimmed eyebrow.
Yes. No. Christ, why is my heart slamming against my ribs? “After you.”
He crosses the room and opens the door to the low murmur of a woman’s voice—a husky radio voice that conjures images of lingerie, sensual curves, and red lips. I follow him into the bedroom and track the melodious sound to the glass wall that overlooks the terrace.
A slender woman with long blonde hair holds a phone to her ear and stares out at the blinking lights of the Manhattan skyline. She doesn’t notice us, but when she shifts the phone to her other ear and tilts her head, her profile comes into full view. One of the most recognizable profiles on the planet.
My stomach drops. My pulse detonates, and my mouth goes dry.
Laynee Somerset.
She is the client I’ve been dreading?
This must be a joke. Who the hell would pay a guy like me twenty grand a month to fuck Laynee Somerset? I’m speechless and dizzy and…holy fucking shit, I hate to admit it, but I’m goddamn star-struck.
I meet Reese’s eyes and clench my jaw. You son of a bitch.
He could’ve given me a clue, could’ve prepared me so that I wouldn’t be standing here with my fucking eyes bugging out of my head.
Laynee Somerset isn’t just an A-list movie star. She’s the royalty of Hollywood. Her mother was a renowned actress in the wave of classic 1970s cult films, and her father was one of the most powerful film producers of all time. Both dead, they left behind a legacy in the form of the world’s most beautiful and talented woman in show business.
I’ve seen most, if not all her movies, as well as countless interviews and magazine spreads. Not that I stalk her. Her glamorous face is everywhere.
She’s also usually accompanied by her famous husband and fellow costar, Blake Harridan. But they can’t be married. I specifically requested a single woman in my application. Christ, the thought of being used like a sex toy in a kinky celebrity marriage makes me want to hurl.
“No. I said no appearances. I’m leaving New York tomorrow and—” Laynee rests her forehead against the window and draws something across the glass with her finger. “I understand, but I’m not budging on this, Violet. No cameras. No fucking interviews. I swear to God, if I see the pap sniffing around—” She sighs. “Yeah, I trust you.”