Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
I didn’t budge, refusing to step through the doors without regaining at least some of my dignity. “Let’s make a deal.”
“A deal requires each party to possess leverage. I know what I have. I also know what you do not. What could you possibly exchange?” His utterly unmoved glare raked down my body, from my head to my bare feet.
I resisted the urge to cover myself, slamming the door shut to busy my hands. “Not that. My body is a temple.”
“And you litter this temple with three tons of sugar-laced, artificial-flavored junk food every third hour.”
Judging by his glowing review of me, I suspected that he wanted me to be more refined. I refused. If you had to change yourself to be accepted, you didn’t need that person in your life in the first place. Because it wasn’t you they wanted to be with. It was their version of you. There would be no universe in which I caved to Romeo Costa’s expectations.
Harsh laughter fizzed up my chest. “You believe you hold the power in this relationship, don’t you? Well, hubs, you’re wrong. We’re equals.”
A feral grin hiked up his cheeks. “Equals? From a woman with no life goals. No dreams to speak of.”
“I do have dreams.”
A baby. Well, babies. Plural. Somehow, I knew he’d find that unworthy. And he’d be wrong. Every dream is worthy. Even if it is tiny and insignificant to one person, it may be impossible to another.
Romeo waited for me to elaborate. I didn’t.
He filled the silence with, predictably, more bull-crap. “It is unwise to anger the man who holds your fate in his palm, Miss Townsend. Consider this advice my second gift to you.”
“Second?”
“The first was when I spared you a lifetime of mockery. Dallas Licht sounds like the name of an STD clinic.”
Did he think this was about Madison? It wasn’t. I didn’t even like Madison. Not really. I just didn’t want Romeo, either.
“Fine. Wanna know what my wish is?” I advanced on him, poking his chest dead in the center. “For you to quit your job.”
“Give me one good reason.”
“Because what you do disgusts me.”
“What I do will finance your existence. At least until your trust fund kicks in.” Romeo punched in the door code again. “And you can continue your life as you always have. Without responsibilities. Without a purpose.”
The adrenaline in my body crashed, burning my energy with it. I pivoted, realizing I wouldn’t win this argument. “Is Zach single?”
“Irrelevant. He wouldn’t touch you with a gun aimed at his head.”
“That’s all right. Weapons have never been my kink.” I licked my lips, grinning. “He’s hot.”
“He’s incapable of any emotion that isn’t boredom.”
“At least he is cordial about it. He’d still be an upgrade from you.”
He ignored my barb, pushing the door open. “Get inside and find a room to lodge in. Anything other than the master. That one is mine.”
“Aww. So territorial. Why don’t you piss on the carpet, just to mark your ground?”
“The only pissing happening is you pissing me off. I suggest you work on your likability skills during the time I’m gone.”
“Wait. Where are you going?” It was hard to keep up with what was happening. I tried gathering my wits like they were scattered marbles on a sleek floor.
“It’s called work.” He turned, descending the steps back to the car, which he’d left running. “You wouldn’t be familiar with the concept.”
“It’s five in the morning.”
“War never stops. It rages all hours of the day.”
My mouth hung open. “You can’t be serious.”
“I can be nothing but serious, Shortbread. I forgot to mention—I do not have a sense of humor.”
In that moment, hungry, frozen, and confused, I truly wished to die.
“You’re just leaving me here?” I didn’t know why I’d asked. I already knew the answer.
Without a single backward glance, Romeo slammed the door to his Maybach.
His answer came in the form of exhaust smoke and a faint trail of dark laughter.
Chapter Twelve
Dallas
The urge to flee to Chapel Falls electrified my heels. Who cares if I caused a scandal? The word had long lost its meaning since Daddy used it to describe everything. From the flan incident to that thing with the family Aspen trip. Really, if he wanted me to take him seriously, he needed to be more selective in his application.
Then I remembered my sister and mother. I could suffer if it meant they didn’t.
Nestled in a luxurious four-poster bed, I tossed and turned for hours until my once-fluffy duvet pancaked beneath me. Alone, in a room that smelled different and looked different and felt different, a breakdown should’ve been inevitable. But I never cried. According to Momma, I’d left her womb without a single tear, not even when the nurse pinched me.
I missed Frankie, and Momma, and—pathetically—even my poor excuse for a father. So much so that my lungs felt as if they’d warped into a pinball machine, each breath bouncing off them with a sharp pang. Left. Right. Left. Right. And still, I couldn’t cry.