Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
I have to say something to Rick. The truth? I wonder, briefly, before shutting the thought down. I’m a man of integrity, but there’s no fucking way I’m telling my best friend that I seduced his only daughter. Instead, I finally type back, YW. Before I can change my mind, I send the text. Short, sweet, to the point. Not suspicious. Not damning.
Pushing my chair away from my desk, I stand and stretch, surveying the world beyond my window. My thoughts drift to my partner in crime. I grimace at myself. That’s not a fair description of her; I’m the grown-ass adult here, the one who took control of the situation, the one who took her. She was no accomplice, but an innocent bystander who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
My expression darkens even further at the thought. Bailey certainly didn’t protest any of my actions last night, and even encouraged them with her words, her sighs, her moans, and her responsiveness. I remind myself yet again that Bailey is of age, now, and that I didn’t illegally or immorally take her virginity. Still, I can’t help but feel like an asshole, an opportunist who took advantage of a girl’s very obvious crush. Oh, I’ve seen the way she’s looked at me for the past few years; I’ve noticed the way she lights up when we talk. Usually, it makes me happy--proud, even. Now, all I feel is regret.
Or do I?
I begin to ponder this as I pour yet another cup of coffee, adding an even more generous splash of bourbon to my mug, but my train of thought screeches to a halt when my desk phone rings. I stride back to my desk and pick it up. “Yes?”
“Someone’s here to see you, sir,” my secretary, Jenna, says.
I frown at my cell phone calendar, making sure that I’m not forgetting any meetings. I’m not. Someone is inevitably about to waste my time.
“Who is it?” I ask, a bit more brusquely than intended.
There’s a brief pause before Jenna responds.
“She says her name is Bailey Prescott.”
Shit. I nearly drop my coffee mug, and instead take another gulp of the warm liquid inside, buying me a half-second’s more time. What the hell does she think she’s doing, showing up at my office in the middle of the afternoon? Is she here to reprimand me, to accuse me of taking advantage of her? I suddenly feel sick to my stomach and massage my temples with my free hand. I don’t need this right now.
There’s no use in sending her away--if she is here to berate me, it’s well-deserved. Also, she could easily go home and tell her dad what happened. This is something I need to deal with now.
I put my mug down.
“Send her in,” I sigh. Then, I hang up the phone, and lean against my desk with my arms crossed, waiting.
Bailey enters my office a few moments later, shutting the door carefully behind her. Immediately, unconsciously, my eyes widen as they take her in. Her jeans perfectly hug her ass, accentuating each delicious globe; her shirt is so low-cut that her breasts are on beautiful display. I try to stop staring before she notices, but I watch her expression grow coy.
“Hi Christopher,” she breathes, tilting her head to one side as she smiles dazzlingly at me. “Miss me?”
Fuck. I realize, in this moment, that I did.
“What are you doing here?” I say instead, refusing to be deterred by the way she’s all but fluttering her lashes at me. She visibly deflates a little, and, struck by a pang of guilt, I more gently clarify, “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”
“School’s over,” Bailey says, taking a hesitant step towards me. I catch, as she moves, a hint of her perfume, and wonder exactly where she applied it--on the inside of her wrists, maybe, the base of her neck, or in between those glorious breasts…
I shake my head, once, grounding myself. Back to business, Maddox.
“That doesn’t answer my first question.”
“I came here to see you, silly.” She smiles again. “Donnie and I… I wanted to let you know that we broke up.”
Shit. The devil on my shoulder is all but stabbing me with the pitchfork now. I actively contributed--probably caused--the breakup of two high school kids. Still, Bailey doesn’t look all that torn up about it. In fact, there’s an unmistakable sparkle of mischief in her eyes, one that I’ve seen far too many times. That twerp meant nothing to her, I realize. She was just aching to be with a man for her first time.
That discovery quickens my pulse, and I lick my lips, ordering myself to remain as outwardly stoic as possible. With Bailey here, standing in front of me, it takes very little imagination to conjure up the image of her naked and writhing beneath me, moaning my name.