Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
“That’s none of your business,” she answers primly. I also think she might whisper prick as she put the phone on the worktop and turns away from me.
She’s right. I am being a prick. Last time, she had a reprieve. This time, I’m working it. Just a little bit.
“Go on, take a look.” When it becomes clear she’d rather touch my prostate than my phone, I turn the screen back to face me. “Truthfully, he’s not so much a friend as a business associate who’ll vouch for me. You know, as an upstanding member of the community.”
“Upstanding?”
“Well, I’m sitting just now, but you know what I mean.”
“Does this community of yours know how you make your money?”
“That I’m essentially a trust fund kid, all grown now? Or that I’m the majority shareholder and CEO of Hayes Industries.”
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.” She throws back a little of her scotch, closing her eyes against the burn.
“Linking me to Ardeo would be a little harder. Though it’s a legitimate business, it’s hidden behind a shell company and a few other things to protect my partners and me. And our members, of course.”
She glowers at me.
“And honestly, this whole deviant schtick is getting a little old, given you’re tainted by association.”
“I told you, I was there by mistake.”
“So you’ve said. Anytime you want to ask about Ardeo, just say the word.”
“I’m not interested,” she grates out, throwing back the rest of her drink before rinsing her glass at the sink.
“Well, I guess we’re back to the matter at hand.” I glance down at my phone. “If you don’t want to speak with Jonathan, you could email him. It’s Jonathon at relief global dot org.”
“Relief? As in the charity?” Her brow creases but not for long. “So your friend does a little charity work—”
“As do I.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s a reliable source.”
“What if he runs the charity? What if it’s his life work? What if he lives and breathes Christian values?” Yada, yada, yada. Blah, blah, blah. While this is all very true, I’ve no idea what he’d actually say if she chose to call him. Do I do a lot of charity work? Yes. Does he know anything about my personal life? Not even a little bit. “Or I could give you the number for the head of The American Red Cross? UNICEF?” I glance up, gratified by her expression. Close your mouth, angel, before I find something to fill it. “Would either of these be reliable enough for you? I could offer you the number of a Senator or two, good people, though I can’t help but be of the opinion that anyone who seeks public office should probably be prevented from holding it. What do you think?”
“I think you’re trying to impress me.”
Not sure if she’d have been impressed to find those good senators naked at the bottom of a pile of pussy, as they no doubt would’ve been on Saturday night.
“I can think of so many other ways to impress you. Better ways.” I turn and put my phone back on the counter next to hers before my gaze rakes over her again. Before she freezes my ass with one of those arctic fucking glances. “What I’m trying to do is make you see the logic in staying. At least until you find somewhere suitable.”
“At this rate, my twelve months will be up,” she mutters.
“Would that be so bad, staying here the whole time?”
How about a whole lifetime? New York. France. In a yurt in Outer Mongolia. Wherever she wants, just the three of us. And any more that might come along. How crazy is it that I want to see her round with our child? Make a family.
“Now you’re taking the p—” She halts, takes a deep breath, and begins again. “It all sounds like an awful lot of trouble to get me into bed.”
Hell, who needs a bed. The thought rushes through my head, unbidden, and I close my eyes against the accompanying images. Or maybe to enjoy them without her censure.
“While I’m certain we’ve established I would very much like to do so, I’m no Bluebeard. I think I can keep my hands to myself.”
But she’s already shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t stay here.”
“Okay.” I shrug as though done. “So let’s move on.” My tone is reasonable, even if my words are total bullshit. Move on? How? When it feels like my world has shifted on its axis. There is no drawing a line under it, no moving on. I can barely sleep for the thought of her under my roof. Watching my TV. Sitting on my chairs. Sleeping in my bed. I have never felt like this before. I can’t get her out of my fucking head, and I don’t want to. The scent of her hair, the silk of her skin, the taste of her lingering on my tongue. If I’d any notion how Saturday would’ve amplified my craving, I might not have led her into that room.