Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Even if things were different, it still wouldn’t be right to get involved with her. I’ve got too much history with too many fucking bad people. If the wrong person took note that I cared about someone else?
Dangerous at best. She deserves to be more than potential leverage for the kind of people I’ve spent my life fucking with.
I’m two steps from the door when I pass the bottom of the narrow stairs and catch sight of another girl frozen mid-step, staring at me.
“Oh, you must be Eagle,” she says, forcing a broad smile, flipping her sleek, straight tarnished copper penny hair over her shoulder. She’s taller than Hannah by several inches, and she doesn’t have those gorgeous freckles. The seventy-six I’ve counted so far are fucking perfect, but there’s enough of a likeness to this girl that I make the easy connection it’s her sister from the photograph.
I don’t even care about the mistake with my name. I never liked that nickname anyway and I need to get out of here. “Yeah, I’m Eagle,” I grumble, checking there are no dogs about to run out before I open the door into the blazing Vegas heat.
From over my shoulder, she says, “I’m Brigid. Are you leaving? Did I get the part?”
And with that, I’m gone.
chapter four
Hannah
We’ve been driving a half-hour in the blazing midday sun and I’ve spent the whole time thinking how Dietrich would look with his clothes off.
Which is probably ironic, given that he phoned Greg minutes after he left yesterday and demanded my exact measurements. My naked measurements, to be specific.
I’ve never taken them before and Hawk wanted every. Single. One.
My skin was on fire as I twisted the measuring tape around my body, imagining it was Dietrich tying me up.
Or down.
He wanted my measurements so he could send me damn near a whole new wardrobe, including bras and panties that were surprisingly tame. Hanes white cotton low rise briefs and several white cotton bras with one exception: a black lace panty, bra and garter set which I spent an hour trying to figure out how it all worked.
How women wore garters and hose every day is beyond me. Just getting them hooked onto those little sliding holder deals had me twisted in a pretzel and watching YouTube videos trying to figure out why it was so ridiculously hard to get the whole set up to work.
The packages arrived a couple hours after the ‘audition’ and Brigid and I spent the rest of the evening opening everything like it was the Christmas morning we’d never had.
Besides the clothes and shoes from Dior and Channel, Burberry and Jimmy Choo, there was French Perfume, custom made shampoos, conditioners, and soaps, along with this incredible over the top, full set of orange and brown Globetrotter luggage to carry it all in. It’s enough clothes for a month fit for an actress that’s winning Oscars not taking some shady roleplay gig for a weekend. He sent a phone as well, all set up with his number only programmed in. It was a great surprise since Brigid and I have been sharing a shitty pay-as-you-go Motorola since Dad quit paying the cell phone bill six months ago.
There were also four bottles of some high-end vitamins with a note that said it was a requirement of the job that I take them with a full glass of water twice a day.
Daddy’s Orders.
I guess his “daughter” is a spoiled princess.
And I’m a little jealous.
Of myself, apparently.
“It pleases me you followed my instructions on your attire for today. You’d bring most men to their knees in that outfit.”
I glance at Dietrich and shiver as the limo hums along the freeway.
“Doesn’t seem to be working on you,” I answer, the tension palatable in the back of the limo as Dietrich takes in the white lace Prada wrap dress with a silk ribbon belt, complete with a bow above my ass all paired with a pair of scarlet patent leather Jimmy Choo pumps. “I feel a bit like a virgin sacrifice.”
“Well, that’s because I’m not most men, but you say ‘virgin sacrifice’ one more time and I’ll be putting you on your knees.”
I can’t tell if he’s playing with me or not. I’ve never wondered what men look like naked, but with this man? It’s hard to think of anything else.
I want to see the muscles in his back. The way his torso broadens when he takes a deep breath. How defined are his abs? He’s a big guy. Burly, I guess you’d say. Like a powerlifter that enjoys a good burger and a beer but dressed like a billionaire on the cover of a romance novel.
I think it’s sexy the way his belly pushes out just over his belt and his arms and legs strain against the slick fabric of his navy-blue suit. Imagine an intense and grumpy, fifty-year-old Henry Cavill with a dad bod.