Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
Why keep a dead tree in a cemetery? Just more death in a place already filled with it.
I stop at her headstone and look down, and that’s when the pain hits me.
I should be back at the office, celebrating with the rest of the staff, who are no doubt cracking open champagne bottles in the lounge and toasting to our victory. But not today. Today there’s mourning to be done.
I drop to one knee and place the roses on the ground just before her headstone.
My hand grips her necklace tight where I have it in my pocket. I stare at the inscribed stone before me, and the grief pierces me fully.
I swallow my first cry but am unable to hold back the tears. I’m alone here among the graves, so no one can see them as they fall down my cheeks, but who could see them anyway with all this rain?
My clothes are still wet as I step into the penthouse. I kick off my shoes and unbuckle my belt and begin to strip out of them as I walk over to the fireplace, which I turn on with a press of a button. I’d much prefer the coziness and authenticity of an actual wood hearth, but making that work in Manhattan–even for a billionaire–is too much of a pain in the ass.
I pour myself a glass of whiskey and, completely naked, slide onto the couch by the fire to warm myself up. I hold up her necklace in front of me, watching the flames dance in the diamond, when suddenly I hear the sound of my phone buzzing from behind me.
I really don’t want to get up, but then I remember it could be Brian with something work-related about tomorrow and the decision I need to make on some of the new machines we’ll be purchasing, so I get up and go over to it.
But as soon as I’m on my feet, the buzzing stops, and I realize it’s not a call, it’s just a text, and from a number I don’t recognize. I check it anyway:
Hey, you. It’s Rain. Want to meet up again?
Instantly, I feel my dick start to swell. I text back:
Depends. Can you abide by the rules?
I smile, picturing her reading my reply. Does she have a roommate or a friend with her that’s reading it with her?
She texts back:
No love. No questions. Send a car for me.
And then her address.
My cock pulses again. I love how sassy she is–how straight to the point she can be. I reply:
On its way. Hope you’re ready for this.
I’m gonna pound her even harder this time. She’s not going to have a clue what to do with herself once I’m done with her. She’s in trouble. She really should have taken my advice back at the bar and just walked away.
5
RAIN
I’m all done up tonight as I stand outside my apartment, huddled beneath my umbrella, waiting for Marlon’s car to show up and take me to him.
Part of me feels important–like a high-class woman being driven to the Oscars or something. But another part of me feels just like a prostitute looking out for her ride. Of course, there’s no money involved in our little arrangement, so I guess that doesn’t make any sense.
I’m not sure why I’m so done up tonight; I have a full face of make-up, lashes, I’m wearing lip gloss, Christine was home so she helped me style my hair and do my nails, I shaved and waxed, put on body oil, am wearing heels again, and even broke out my favorite beige dress that looks like a bunch of strips of fabric have been wrapped around my body. I have worn it twice in my life since I bought it three years ago, so Marlon better appreciate it.
Of course he has no way of knowing that, so he won’t know unless I tell him, and I’m sure not going to do that. It would only make me look desperate.
And why am I even trying this hard for him anyway? It’s not like I have to try to impress him at all. We’ve already slept together. We already have our arrangement together. I could probably show up there wearing sweatpants and an oversized, worn-out T-shirt and he would still have his way with me.
But for some reason, I felt the need to get all dolled up for him tonight.
Maybe it has to do with the fact that he’s clearly a millionaire–or maybe even a billionaire. Or the fact that he had us both chauffeured home from the bar last night to his incredible penthouse with a view that few in Manhattan could even dream of having.
Or maybe there’s something else going on. Who knows? I’m no psychologist.
I check my phone to see if he’s texted me again, but just as I do, the incredible black car from last night pulls up in front of me. I tip-toe in my heels over to the back door, which opens automatically for me, causing me to step back a little as I watch in awe.