Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
“W-where are you taking me?”
“Why? What do you think I’m going to do with you?”
“My father says that your kind of people do all kinds of terrible things to girls.”
“Like what?”
“Sell them for sex.”
That stops him in his tracks. He turns to me, eyes narrowed into slits. “So let me get this straight. Your father thinks I’m a sex trafficker, and yet, he handed his only daughter over to me. What kind of father is that?”
I shrug. “Not much of one but I didn’t get a choice in the matter.”
He nods slowly and clears his throat. “For the record, I’m not going to sell you. I’m going to employ you. You’re going to be my new nanny.”
Nanny? So, he has a family? That’s the last thing I expected, but then, why wouldn’t he have a family? He’s a powerful, rich man. If that wasn’t enough to convince a woman to marry him, he’s also very ruggedly handsome. Like seriously. All those guys on TV and billboards? They have nothing on him. And I mean nothing.
I already noticed it before, but now that he’s close, I see he has this way about him that draws me to him. Maybe it’s his confidence? How sure he is of himself? Of course, it doesn’t help that he’s way too easy on the eyes. Massive frame, broad shoulders, strong arms.
He’s much older than me, that I can tell. If he’s just a random guy on the street who asks me out, there’s no way I can resist him.
We take a long drive up the freeway and turn onto an exit I’m not familiar with. The landscape takes a quick turn from the grungy concrete of the city to a lush green. Few very large houses sit on acres of land on either side. The kinds of houses I just know are worth millions.
Wow. I’ve only seen places like this on television. I didn’t think they existed around here.
The limo turns off the road, and his driver punches an access code into a keypad. An alarm beeps and the wrought iron gate slowly opens. We traverse a long, blacktop driveway and stop in front of what I would call a mansion.
The three-story limestone house is surrounded by columns that sit on gray slate tiles. Canned lights are positioned to make the entry as bright as day even in the dead of night.
My mouth hangs open. So this is how the 1% lives. “This is your house?”
“Yes, welcome home.” He stops and furrows his forehead. “Do you have a name?”
“Yes, do you?”
He turns to face me, and I see how intimidating he can be when he puts his mind to it. “I don’t know where you think this tough girl act is going to get you, but I know it’s just an act. I know you’re scared shitless right now, so stop pretending. If you behave and do as you’re told, you have nothing to worry about with me. So, I ask you again, what is your name?”
I gulp. “Cassidy. My father’s a Butch and Sundance fan.”
“It’s a lovely name. You don’t know who I am?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Christian Cassella. Some people call me Chris the Collector. You can call me Chris.”
The driver is outside the limo conversing with a man casually carrying a rifle strapped over his shoulder. No big deal. Just a guy who can shoot me dead if I so much as walk the other way.
The two look at the car and the driver comes over and opens the door. Chris takes me by the arm and leads me into the house. I give a low whistle, my eyes taking in every inch of the space. “You could fit my whole apartment complex in here.”
“You lived in an apartment?”
“Yep, just me and dear old dad.”
“What happened to your mother?”
“She died when I was three.”
“I’m sorry.”
“How many people live here with you?”
“Just you and the housekeeper.”
Huh. That’s weird. “Then who am I babysitting?”
He walks me to the kitchen, my eyes zeroing in on the sprawling center island, a gleaming white marble with some subtle gray and black accents crisscrossing over it. A black and wood dome pendant light hangs above, casting a cozy, warm glow over us.
“Hold on to that cat,” he starts to say but she leaps out of my arms and hops over a gate at the far end of the kitchen.
“This is why I said she wasn’t safe here.” He curses under his breath, and I follow him around the marble-covered bar.
My heart skips a beat. Behind the gate are two adult Rottweilers with spiked leather collars. One of them sniffs and paws at the kitten as she rubs on his leg. The other drops to its belly and gets nose-to-nose with her. She meows and rubs her head against him.
I can’t help but cross my arms and snort. “Yeah, looks like her life is in real danger.”