Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 16842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 84(@200wpm)___ 67(@250wpm)___ 56(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 84(@200wpm)___ 67(@250wpm)___ 56(@300wpm)
“I’m… I’m sorry, you’re the one who hired — ”
“Who are you?” she repeats again and I definitely see panic in her face, but she’s not lying. I’d bet everything I own on it .
“I’m Nick Jones. I own the company .”
Her throat works as she swallows. “You own Dreamers?” she asks, looking confused. Hell, she’s not the only one .
“Yes, and we were following up on the Christmas order placed by Keni…uh, you. Was the fantasy for you or for a friend?” I ask, praying she tells me it was for a friend and gives me the name. That’s the only explanation for the fucked-up situation I am now in .
I start to relax, thinking I have it all figured out. Holly—and just maybe that’s her real name—might think she can run away from me, but I’ve got her now. Maybe when I finally get her in my grasp again, Santa will have to spank her for being a naughty little girl. Fuck. Maybe I can make her naughtier? A quick image of Holly tied to my bed, my cum painted across her face, her tongue licking it off her lips while I’m still getting off across her tits, slams to my mind. I swear my cock swells rock hard. If I don’t find Holly soon, my fucking balls are going to explode. I’ve heard the term bust a nut my whole life, but not until this woman have I realized what the fuck it means—and the agony that comes with it .
“No… I mean, it was for me, but I just changed my mind. I chickened out, okay? I shouldn’t have ever booked it. It’s just this was my first Christmas as a single woman. My son is spending Christmas with his father and new stepmother and I just…panicked. I couldn’t go through with it, though. I didn’t think anything else about it. I mean, you had my deposit and… Shit. I should have canceled.” She’s rambling now, clearly nervous. “Am I responsible for the whole fee? That hardly seems fair, considering I didn’t show. I mean, maybe I should have called when I decided not to show up, but I didn’t actually decide not to—at least not until it was time to go there. I figured by then it was just too late. You know?” She’s breathing hard and fast .
I want to assure her things are fine, at least where she’s concerned, but she won’t let me get a word in .
“Is that why you’re here? To collect the outstanding amount? Is that standard practice? I mean, this is my home. If you had billed me—or even called, I would have come in,” she huffs, blathering on so much that I lose track .
Really, I stopped listening when I discovered she didn’t have a friend show up at the park in her place. I stopped listening when I realized that I have absolutely no idea who Holly is or how to find her .
She’s lost to me forever …
Chapter 11
Holly
Two weeks later
I should just leave, but because this is a work function, and basically mandatory or I get the “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” looks from my superiors, I am trapped. It’s like a damn prison, a fancy, champagne flowing, rare caviar serving, expensive dress and tuxedo wearing prison. Hell, I don’t even know ninety-nine percent of the people in this damn ballroom, but I smile and act like I’m best friends with all of them. Because this is work, and even though I loathe being here, I have to play nice .
I finish off the champagne in my flute but don’t wait until a server walks by with a tray filled with more. I head over to the bar and lean against the smooth, glossy wood counter. My mind drifts to Nick, and to the fact that even though it’s been two weeks, I still want him. I still think about him, about the possibility of just running into him and things falling right into place. I have a better chance of resurrecting the Lost City of Atlantis than running into Nick in New York City .
Instead of letting my mind be consumed with all things Nick, I focus on the fact that my feet are killing me in these stilettos, and that this dress is a size too small .
“Champagne, please,” I say to the bartender and turn to survey the ballroom. This place drips of money, and every year around the holidays they throw this ridiculous party, trying to schmooze with all the big-shot businesses around the city. It is really everyone getting drunk and bragging how they have more money than the next .
It is always a suffocating night, with the stench of overpriced cologne filling my head, and drunken old men trying to get me to go back to a hotel room with them .