Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Zach folded his arms across his chest, the epitome of casual. His presence filled up the room like he’d been carved into it, sculpted in marble.
An immaculate haircut highlighted that thick, glossy tar hair, not a single strand out of place.
With his navy cashmere sweater pulled over a smart dress shirt and pale gray slacks, he would auction for a billion dollars and some change.
A tiny smirk pulled at the right side of his mouth. Almost too slight to see.
He peered down his nose at me, so tall and larger than life. “Mrs. Ballantine?”
Even as he spoke to Vera, his eyes never budged from me. As if I’d somehow escape if he gave me an inch.
The gravity of the situation crashed on me. Back pressed against the shelves. A cornered animal. Utterly humiliated.
Didn’t mean I had to accept it.
I deposited the spatula on a random shelf, jerked my chin up, and met his gaze head-on.
Vera scuttled to his side. “Yes?”
“Privacy, please.”
“Farrow, get you—”
“No, Vera.” Zach straightened to his full height, stepping away from the island. “You are leaving.”
“But…”
“I did not ask for your opinion. I asked you to kindly fuck off.”
Holy shit.
He really was pissed.
Well, you did try to steal something of his.
Scratch that.
Something of mine.
I needed to remember that. It made all the difference.
“You and I aren’t done.” Vera pivoted back to me and wagged her French-manicured finger in my face. “Not by a long shot.”
“Don’t worry, Mommy.” I winked at her. “I’m not going anywhere, whether you like it or not.”
Sure, I had to play by her rules, but that didn’t mean I had to be a good sport.
Nothing about Dad’s death made sense.
It happened at his prime. Sudden and violent.
One moment, he’d stood before a restaurant entrance, waiting for the valet to pull up. And the other, the valet crashed into him at the speed of light.
The tests came back clean.
No alcohol. No drugs.
The valet claimed his foot got stuck on the accelerator and received a five-year sentence. The judge felt sorry for him. For his sick wife. For their innocent baby.
I felt bad for him, too.
But I felt even worse for myself.
That was two years ago, and I was still licking the wounds, which showed no signs of healing.
With a displeased grunt, Vera tromped her way into the living room. Still close enough to eavesdrop, of course.
The minute she evacuated my personal space, I ventured out of the pantry.
“No.” Zach strolled to me, raising one palm. “Stay where you are. Rats fit right into dark holes.”
I slipped out, anyway. “Speaking of dark holes, anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?”
“Not aloud, but I’m sure many share the sentiment.”
On instinct, I drifted to a utensil drawer, yanking it open to arm myself with the sharpest thing I could find.
He slammed it shut with his hip before I could reach for a steak knife.
Killer instincts.
Noted.
He tsked. “If I were you, I wouldn’t try anything funny.” His colossal frame blocked any path I could take out of here. Not that it mattered now that he knew my identity. There’d be no escaping him. “Not only can I outsmart you, I can also out-kill you. And I am currently very tempted to do so, little thief.”
A burst of pure energy flooded my veins. “Fuck you, big bucks. You and your stupid friends don’t scare me.”
No way had I grown that paranoid the past couple days.
I’d felt someone following me, the little hairs on the back of my neck saluting the stranger each time I entered and exited a new home to clean.
A private investigator, perhaps, since I doubted these trust-fund babies would ever perform manual labor personally.
And if it wasn’t Zach, it must’ve been one of his fancy friends.
I’d heard the rumors.
All three of them were thick as thieves and prone to throwing their weight around the DMV to get whatever and whomever they wanted. Well, not me.
I swiveled past Zach, headed for the door. “Go pester another kid on the playground.”
He unleashed a dramatic sigh.
That was when I felt it. A metallic thing kissing my lower back.
Cold, sharp, and unmistakable.
A knife.
What kind of psychopath walked around with a freaking knife? In broad daylight, too?
Then, I remembered he’d sent a fancy one soaring in my direction when I’d escaped him at the party.
Zachary Sun loved his weapon.
He was a far cry from the unimpeachable and elegant version of himself, who popped onto Bloomberg panels to discuss rising start-ups.
A savage in designer suits.
And he was officially, unapologetically my problem.
“I strongly advise you don’t run away from this particular conversation.”
I shuddered, more from the baritone rumble of his voice than the knife digging into my lower back.
He wouldn’t stab me. I just didn’t know how far he’d take this.
I stopped but didn’t turn to face him.
Zach pressed the flat edge deeper into my flesh. “Unless, of course, you aren’t very fond of your ability to walk.”