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)
“Farrow. My office. Now.”
He’d waited until I was one step away from the kitchen before calling me upstairs?
What a prick.
With a growl, I tromped up the steps, slamming the double doors to his office open. He sat behind his desk, sprawled on his seat like a big cat, playing with something in his hand.
I propped an elbow against the doorframe, refusing to cower or shrink in front of him. “’Sup?”
Pink bubble gum popped between my lips.
He looked abhorred. He always looked abhorred. “Is that gum you’re chewing?”
I arched a brow. “Yeah. Problem?”
He shook his head, ignoring my provocation. “You need to pay extra attention to the ballroom today. The decorator and catering staff are already there, shifting things around. They’re creating a mess.”
Another party? Why?
Even aliens galaxies away could see he absolutely detested large gatherings.
But I knew the answer.
Constance.
Always Constance.
“Got it. Anything else?”
He spared me a glance. An odd thought struck me.
I wonder what those eyes look like when they’re in love.
“You haven’t made my bed yet.”
“Had an early morning. Will do it now. Is that all?”
He traced his sharp jawline with his finger, mulling it in his head. Was he trying to find more tasks for me? Why was he being extra tool-baggy today?
“You need to clean all the windows on the first floor. We can’t allow the photos with flash to show any markings of raindrops or fingerprints.”
I frowned. “I did all the windows yesterday.”
“Do them again.”
I noticed, for the first time, that Zach held the cigar holder I’d used to play with myself. I recognized the unique metal barrel and golden cap.
He toyed with it, flipping it between his fingers.
“They’re squeaky clean.” I threw my hands up, losing it. “Why would I redo them? It makes no sense.”
“You’re not here to make sense, Octi. You are here to take my orders.”
Zach put the cap in his mouth, and I swallowed hard.
This thing was inside me.
This was why he’d wanted me to leave the cigar holder behind. So he could taste me.
Something simmered in my veins.
Desire? Rage?
I couldn’t tell.
All I knew was my blood bubbled, threatening to spill out of me.
I curled my fingers into fists, struggling to breathe. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Everything, I suspect.”
“You’re being extra insufferable today.”
He turned his attention back to his screens, typing away on his keyboard, the cigar holder nestled between his straight white teeth. “Nonetheless, you have work to do. Chop, chop, Little Octopus.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded.
Whiplash struck me every time I spoke to him. Hot one second. Cold the next.
This wasn’t the same man who’d spent hours in a meeting with me and a team of lawyers, working relentlessly to drag me out of the mess Vera had pulled me into.
Not the same man I had lunch with every day, whose throat bobbed whenever our eyes met.
Not the same man who craved my touch so bad, sometimes I felt his eyes alone lick at my skin.
With a shake of my head, I turned away and stomped downstairs to start my workday.
Tears burned the backs of my eyes as I scrubbed already clean windows.
Dad did not answer my prayers this birthday, that much was certain.
I shut my eyes, delivering one more message into the universe.
An apology.
I’m sorry, Dad.
I didn’t mean it.
It’s not your fault you broke your promise.
But it is my fault that I did something I know you’d be ashamed about.
The mansion had transformed into a Disney castle.
White and creamy string lights draped the army of red maple trees leading up to the manor. Columns of red and gold flowers bracketed the double entry doors.
In the foyer, white roses stretched across an entire wall for guests to take photos in front of. Swag bags lined up at the entrance like toy soldiers, secured by crisp velvet bows.
In the ballroom, round tables framed the dance floor while LED balloons covered the tall ceiling in its entirety, lighting the room up from within.
I’d stepped into a fairytale.
A fairytale I, as usual, wasn’t invited to.
I wondered what the occasion was. Hopefully Zach’s belated emancipation from his overbearing mother. Though I didn’t count on it.
Guilt was the only emotion he was capable of feeling. Cutting the cord would be admitting to himself that he was dead inside.
The good news—and there wasn’t much of it—was that I was off-duty.
I’d managed to steal a box of white-and-red macarons before making my way upstairs to the guest room. My own private birthday gift for myself.
I locked the door behind me, launched myself on the pillows, and cranked the music all the way up, listening to “Water” by Tyla.
Even through my cheap earbuds, I managed to hear everything outside. Cars pulling up at the entrance. Valets. Champagne glasses clinking together. The indulgent laughter of people who didn’t know how to pay their own bills. The live band. The hustle and bustle of point-one-percenters enjoying themselves.