Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 81745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Just the thought of talking to her makes my heart speed up. She answers after five rings. “What do you want?”
“Good afternoon, gorgeous,” I say, ignoring her snippiness. “How are you doing?”
“How am I doing?” she asks, and I can tell she’s flustered. “I’m not doing good.”
“Are you sick?” I ask as suddenly something in me makes my head spin.
“No, I’m not sick,” she huffs out. “Well, actually, maybe I am sick.” She groans. “Maybe I have a brain tumor, and I don’t even know. I mean, why else would I have done what I did?”
I laugh now. “Or maybe, you actually like me and want to date me, and your subconscious is finally breaking free.”
“No,” she says right away. “I’m going with a brain tumor. I have to go and call my doctor.”
“Gorgeous,” I say softly, and when all I get is silence, I look at the phone to see if she hung up on me or not. “Are you still there?”
“Miller, seriously, all jokes aside, this is a horrible, horrible idea,” she says, and I have to wonder if she’s home, and if she is home, is she sitting down with flowers all around her? Is she in bed, is she naked and thinking about me?
“This is not a horrible idea!” I yell. “This is the best idea that you have ever had.”
“No, it’s not!” she yells back at me. “Going to Cabo and sitting on the beach was a good idea. Me bidding twenty-five K to go on a date with you has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. And I woke up one day with a tattoo.”
I smile now. “A tattoo?” My voice comes out smooth. “I’ve never seen it.”
“And you will never see it,” she huffs out. “Ever.”
“Oh, I think this is a challenge.” I clap my hands together.
“There is no challenge!” she shouts. “There is nothing going on here.”
“Oh, there is something going on here.” I put the car in park. “Something big, and I can’t wait for you to finally see it, gorgeous.” She groans. “Be ready tonight. I’ll be there at eight.”
“No!” she shouts.
“See you later, gorgeous,” I say and hang up the phone, smiling to myself. I get out of the truck and make my way over to the gym, where my trainer is waiting.
I walk in, and the cold air hits me right away. “You are five minutes late,” he says, and I look down and see he’s right. “Get on the treadmill.” I nod at him, and for the next two hours, he pushes me until my legs feel like Jell-O.
“It’s a good fucking thing I don’t have to get back on the ice until Tuesday.” My chest heaves up and down as I swallow a whole bottle of water. Sweat from my face drips down, and the phone beeps.
I walk over to the weight bench that has my keys, wallet, and phone, and I smile when I see Layla texted me.
Layla: One date. See you at eight.
I smile to myself like a giddy teenager. I knew she wanted me, I think to myself. “Come to Daddy.”
Chapter 7
Layla
Did he just hang up on me? I look down at the phone and see that the screen saver picture is up. How dare he hang up on me. I get up, storming over to my bedroom and falling on the bed, then turn to the side and see that it’s just a little after one in the afternoon. I’ve just spent the past three hours trying to forget about what I did last night.
But the minute I try to forget, I take a deep breath, and all I can do is smell flowers. It brings me right back to the memories of last night. Sitting at the table watching all the women and then something happening, and I couldn’t explain it. Bidding on him for twenty-five fucking thousand dollars, I close my eyes. Not only that, but I made the payment on the way to the car. They should have a code word before making a purchase that big. Like, were you or are you of sound mind. Because if I’d had that option, I would have failed.
I walked into the house and had a one-on-one with Don Julio, who did nothing but make me forget. He made sure that when I woke up this morning, the memories came slowly.
My phone pings, and I look down, seeing that it’s a text from Miller, and I sit up in my bed. How did he get my number? For the past four years, I’ve given him a different number each time. Each time, he would blow up that number and then ask me why I never answered. I would laugh at him and inform him that he took it down wrong.
I call Candace, who answers right away, whispering, “Did you give Miller my phone number?” I hear a door close softly.