Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“Please.” Oliver waved a hand. “God’s entire net worth is not even what I pay the IRS annually. But do I get that kind of following and appreciation? No.”
“I’ll join your cult,” I volunteered.
“Somehow, I don’t doubt that.”
Zach tipped his chin down, flashing Romeo a taunting smirk. “Well, what do you know? Da Nang turned out to be a success.”
I waited for a reaction from my new fiancé.
None came.
He acted as though I didn’t exist.
Now, if only I could follow his wish and vanish.
My relief when we landed could solve a humanitarian crisis.
Possibly of my future husband’s doing.
For the last thirty minutes, I couldn’t concentrate on a word in my book.
Sometimes, when I read, I realized I was happiest in a world that wasn’t mine. This time, however, the only happy thing here was Romeo’s erection bobbing beneath my butt.
There was no love lost between us. Lust, however, was lost, found, and begging to be converted into filthy sex.
When the plane came to a full stop, the stewardess opened the door.
“We’re just waiting for the car.” She aimed her sunny smile at Romeo, the owner of the jet. “Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”
Al and Scott emerged from the cockpit, standing beside her.
I tasted the danger before it happened. Tension crackled in the air like a whip.
Romeo stood, toppling me into his warm recliner in the process. He sauntered toward Scott, tall and menacing and, frankly, terrifying.
Scott’s face wilted. He fell back a step, bumping into the cockpit door.
“Sir.” He raised both palms. “I don’t know what you think happened between me and your fiancée, but I can assure you—”
Without a word, Romeo scooped him by the collar and dragged him to the cavity the plane’s door once occupied.
He threw Scott face-first to the floor, dangerously close to the open exit. His head lolled in the air while the rest of him flailed on the hardwood.
My future husband pressed his loafer between Scott’s shoulder blades.
A scream wedged in my throat.
What was he doing?
“Touch my fiancée in any capacity whatsoever—even breathe in her direction, in fact—and I’ll relieve you of your lousy excuse for a spine.”
The words were cold, calm, and callous.
“Aow!” Scott wormed beneath him. “My back.”
For once, pure serenity settled into Romeo’s features. “Tell me you understand, and you may return to your miserable existence.”
Oliver frowned at what appeared to be a broken nail on his otherwise flawless hand. “Christ, Costa. Who pissed in your pea soup?”
Zach speed-dialed Romeo’s assistant, unruffled as though this was just another Sunday. “Hey, Cara. Call Hayward or whomever Romeo has on retainer now.”
Pause.
“Assault, of all things.”
Another pause.
“No, I am not interested in a blind date with your niece, but thank you for the offer.”
Finally, the haul in my throat loosened.
I released the scream.
Romeo didn’t even spare me a glance.
“I promise,” Scott spluttered. “I swear on my life I’ll never look at her again.”
“I believe you.” Romeo removed his foot from Scott’s back, rolling him face up with the tip of his shoe. “Because you’re fired, effective immediately.”
Everyone on the plane went silent.
Even I couldn’t find the right words.
Guilt consumed me. This had happened to Scott because of me and my thoughtlessness.
My juvenile need to stick it to my fiancé.
“But your father hired m—”
“My father’s not here now and will expire soon enough. I make the calls.”
I didn’t know how much time passed, but eventually, Al dragged Scott out, the car arrived, and Zach and Oliver moved in my direction.
Oliver tapped my shoulder. “Come on, Davenport.”
I didn’t even have the energy to correct him.
When Zach strode past Romeo, he shook his head. “In the twenty-nine years I’ve known you, I haven’t seen you lose your temper once. I’ve seen you lose it three times tonight alone.”
Romeo flashed him a glare. “If you have something to say, say it, Sun.”
Zach dusted his cashmere-clad shoulder. “A picture’s worth a thousand words, but your face only says one—pussy-whipped.”
Utter silence suspended in the air.
Sensing the dark mood, Jared shut off the classical radio and raised the divider of the S600 Maybach.
Of course, Romeo had a chauffeur.
And, of course, his chauffeur wore a three-piece uniform, ornamented with a black cap and leather gloves.
Romeo seemed very fond of treating everyone around him like they had the depth of a Sims character. He considered people as placeholders that existed solely to advance his personal plot.
I glared out the window, watching cars zip past, knowing I’d lose control if we got into an argument.
A D.C. license plate winked at me, taxation without representation inked across in bold script. It snapped the last thread holding my anger at bay.
Talk about kindred spirits.
I paid a heavy price for one mistake and had no voice of my own.
If only I could angry-cry. Find some sort of relief. But Romeo Costa didn’t deserve my tears.
Heck, he didn’t deserve any of my bodily fluids.