Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
I shoot her an amused look.
“Are you actually blind this morning, or is this just for the aesthetic?”
She lets out a pathetic groan, adjusting the glasses slightly.
“I am fighting for my life.”
Jas snorts from where she’s sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through her phone with half-lidded eyes.
“I don’t know how you drank that much. Even Leah didn’t get as messy, and she disappeared.”
Right. Leah.
I straighten slightly. “Did we get confirmation that she’s alive?”
“Checked her location earlier,” Jas says as she waves her phone in the air for emphasis. “She was back at Jacques’ mansion by three a.m. Sent a text at, like, six that said she was - and I quote - more than fine.’”
“So she is alive, but likely making horrific decisions,” I nod.
“Don’t judge her,” Emma croaks. “She’s out there thriving, and I respect it.”
Jas sighs, still scrolling. “Speaking of thriving, I’m about to order breakfast. What do you guys want?”
Emma makes a strangled sound.
“Absolutely nothing.”
“You sure?” Jas lifts a brow. “You could do with lining your stomach, babe.”
“If you so much as say the word ‘eggs’ -”
A sharp knock on the door interrupts her empty threat.
I frown, setting my coffee down.
“Room service?”
“Didn’t order yet,” Jas replies, equally confused.
Curious, I step across the suite and pull open the door.
Standing there is a pristine-looking member of hotel staff, dressed in a crisp black suit, a name tag pinned to his lapel.
“Mademoiselle,” he greets politely, offering a small nod. “I have a delivery for this room.”
I blink, glancing down.
In his hands is an obscenely large white box, wrapped in a silk pink ribbon tied into an elaborate bow, and balanced perfectly on top is an exquisite bouquet of blush pink roses, fragrant and flawless.
“Oh.” I hesitate for a second before stepping back. “Uh, yeah, sure - thanks.”
He hands the items over, and I have to take them separately, placing the box down first before reaching back for the bouquet.
“What the hell?” Emma splurts, sitting up slightly as I turn back towards them, the bouquet of roses in my arms.
“Leah,” Jas decides, eyeing the gifts with interest. “Looks like Jacques was trying to grovel.”
“Obviously,” Emma agrees, voice hoarse. “He definitely messed up last night. Although there was no grovelling necessary since she went back to him so easily.”
I’m about to agree as I close the door behind me when my gaze snags on the small white card nestled between the roses.
My breath catches as the room fades into a distant hum, my vision tunneling in on the delicate slant of my name on the card.
This isn’t for Leah.
This is for me.
“Poppy?” Jas’ voice cuts through the fog, her brow furrowing as she leans forward. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t answer.
My fingers tremble slightly as I pluck the card from the bouquet, turning it over.
The message is short and teasing, but far too thoughtful for a man who has no business being… well, thoughtful.
I owed you something couture, non?
- F.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
I practically feel the colour drain from my face.
“Pops?” Emma croaks from the chair, her voice slightly more alert.
I swallow, struggling to find words. Instead, I take a slow, measured breath - then, with shaking hands, I reach for the lid of the box.
I lift it just an inch.
I see just enough.
And then I slam it back down.
“Nope.”
Emma lets out an actual squeal, miraculously recovering from her near-death experience as she bolts upright, sunglasses slipping off her face.
“Oh, absolutely not,” she exclaims, scrambling over. “You do not get to just do that!”
I tighten my grip on the lid.
“Emma, don’t -”
Too late.
Emma all but rips it open, her dramatic gasp filling the suite as she stares inside like she’s just uncovered buried treasure.
Jas whistles lowly. “Jesus. You pissed him off, and he sent you Chanel?”
My stomach flips.
Because yes - Chanel.
Nestled inside the pristine white tissue paper is not one, not two, but three pieces of designer swimwear.
A stunning white and gold two-piece bikini with delicate gold chain detailing.
A matching sheer sarong.
And, just in case I wanted options, an obscenely expensive black one-piece with the kind of tailoring that could make a nun look scandalous.
Emma reaches in, lifting the bikini top and inspecting the dainty straps with a reverent sigh.
“Oh, he wants you, babe.”
I’m so screwed.
“Do not start -”
“Oh, I will start.” She shakes the fabric in emphasis, her eyes practically glowing with mischief. “This is not a ‘thanks for a fun night’ gift, Poppy. This is a man on a mission.”
“I mean… she did call him a mechanic,” Jas laughs.
Emma snorts, before gasping again.
“Wait - is that a note?”
Shit.
Emma rifles through the box, and then -
“Aha!”
She lifts a small, black card between her fingers.
I already know what’s on it.
I can’t explain how or why, but I already know.
I glance down anyway, just to be sure.
And of course, there it is - a number.
Correction - his number.