Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
“There’s no proof that, even if you do give Helena the money, she won’t go to press, anyway.”
“I know but at least it might buy me some time.”
“For what?”
“In case you missed it, I got married last fucking week, Bart!” I stand in a rush. “Do you really think this is how my new wife wants to spend her first week of marriage?”
“Stop putting everyone else’s needs before yourself. This is ten million pounds, Garcia.”
“I don’t care about the money.” I throw my hands in the air.
He holds his hand out in defeat. “Then, there’s your answer.”
I stare at him.
“You’re going to pay her the money, regardless of how stupid you know it is.”
“What do you want me to do? Throw my wife to the slaughter?” I lose my temper. “Get out!” I bark. “If you have nothing more to say, get the fuck out.”
Bart exhales heavily. “This is a bad idea.”
“Tell me the alternative? Give me a better fucking plan, Bart. Because as of this moment, you’ve got nothing.”
He stares at me, thinking. “What if I barter her down?”
“How?”
“I’ll email her. Tell her you can’t get that amount of money. Ask if we could we negotiate a deal of sorts.”
I scratch the back of my neck in frustration. I don’t want to give this bitch a single penny.
“At this point, she’s clutching at straws. She would have no idea that you’re willing to pay. I’ll tell her we have someone who can prove the photos have been manipulated and are fake—that she isn’t going to get any traction with this story. I’ll try and get her to agree to a few million and sign some kind of assurance that she won’t go public. Ten is ludicrous. It’s out of the question.”
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Leave it with me.” He walks toward the door.
“Bart!” I call, and he turns back. “Thank you.”
He nods, still unimpressed. “I’ll be in touch.”
I climb out of the car just as April bounces out of the front door. I look up, and my breath catches at the sight of her beautiful smile.
“Hello, Mr. Garcia.” She smiles as she kisses me.
“Mrs. Garcia.” I smirk.
I hold the car door open, and she gets in.
We are on our way to dinner with our friends to celebrate our marriage.
What a fucking joke.
What I should be doing is packing April up and moving her to the moon.
I have this sick lead ball in my gut telling me that shit’s about to get bad and there’s no way to stop it. My world is spinning out of control on its axis.
If I tell April, her name is dragged through the mud and her career is over.
If I don’t tell April, she is protected.
But I lie to her.
Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Fucked up, either way.
We sit in the back of the car as the driver whizzes through the traffic.
April’s chatting and laughing, being her gorgeous self, while I sit emotionless, watching her. Her hand is resting on my thigh, and I look down at the gold band on her finger. The one that matches mine.
I close my eyes in sadness. All my life, I waited for a love like this.
“What’s wrong, babe?” She lifts my hand to her mouth and kisses my fingertips.
“Just tired, darling,” I lie.
“We won’t stay late.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m fine. We can stay as long as you want.”
She bounces around in her seat. “I’m so excited to see everyone.”
I fake a smile. “Me, too.”
The procession of security cars pull up outside the front of the restaurant, where a photographer is waiting. The driver gets out and opens the back door. I climb out to the flashes of the camera, and I help April out by taking her hand.
“Mrs. Garcia!” The photographer calls. “How is married life?”
“Wonderful.” She smiles.
My heart drops, and we walk inside to see our friends sitting at the back. They all stand. April holds her hand up and wiggles her fingers to show them her ring, and the girls dance with excitement as we approach the table.
“Congratulations.” The girls laugh as they kiss us.
The boys shake my hand and slap me on the back.
“You old dog,” Spencer jokes. “Why weren’t we invited?”
We sit down. April is laughing and chatting. She’s so happy, and I just want to die a slow, painful death.
Because I should. My terrible taste in ex-wives should be a death sentence.
Spencer watches me and gives me a subtle frown. Masters, too.
They know me too well for me to hide anything from them.
“You guys want to get cocktails at the bar with me?” I ask.
“Yep.” Their chairs are both out before I’ve finished my sentence. We take the girls orders and walk over to the bar. We stand in the corner at a small round table as we wait for them to be made.