Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 31081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
I need to remind myself it’s something tragic, horrible that happened to me.
It doesn’t define me.
I’m not going to allow him to take any more of my power.
My soul, mind, and body got vandalized and tainted, but it also healed and strengthened me. That monster can’t take my soul. I own it. It’s mine. I won’t let him occupy my mind either. I determine how I live.
As for my body, I’m going to allow myself pleasure. Fantasies. And Joshua fucking Tuck.
Feeling empowered, I swallow my nerves and leave the car. Even getting dressed and leaving the house to come to work took tremendous effort today, but I did it. I can do it. I can overcome anything.
Entering the elevator, I notice Emery from the floor above mine holding a box of Christmas decorations.
“That time already?” I smile, happy to see her pretty face.
Hiding away is unhealthy. I’m not that person. I’m not a victim anymore. I’m a survivor. A warrior. A queen.
“Afraid so.” She shrugs.
Just as the doors attempt to close, a hand stops them. They crawl back open to reveal Mr. Black, the owner of the architecture firm Emery works for.
“Room for one more?” he grunts, nodding his head in thanks. He’s devilishly handsome and always smells great. My eyes fall to Emery’s bright pink cheeks, her eyes on his ass. I bite my lip to hide a chuckle. When the elevator opens on the floor before mine, Mr. Black steps out to visit the in-house shared café. “Ms. Washington.” His head jerks. “Emery.” He smirks knowingly at her. When the doors close once more, she sighs, leaning back against the elevator wall.
“You should talk to him. He won’t bite.” I grin.
“That would be a shame if he doesn’t,” she mutters wistfully.
I’m still chuckling when I reach my office and find Wayne sitting on the corner of my desk, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Some delicious hunk of meat delivered these this morning.” He wags his eyebrows, handing me a card he’s plucked out of a beautiful bunch of red roses. My heart skips as I take the card and open it.
Red, you brave, beautiful, and incredibly sexy woman,
I want to take you to dinner. A real date. Meet me at El Faro. 8 pm. Tonight.
Love, Joshua. (Your big bad wolf)
“Oh my God! The suspense is killing me! Are you going to let me read it or what?” Wayne bounces on the spot, giddy as all hell.
“Or what.” I giggle, feeling lighter and free. I hug the card to my chest so he can’t see what’s written and swat him off my desk. “I have work to do, and so do you!”
“You’re no fun, Quinn. I’m going to have to meet him formally. You know, like to assess him to make sure he’s good enough for you,” he taunts, prancing out of my office with an ass wiggle to rival Shakira’s.
I don’t tell him I’m not ready to share Joshua with him or anyone else just yet.
Dinner. A real date.
I debated texting Joshua to tell him I was busy and couldn’t make dinner. Doubt set in, and I couldn’t find anything to wear because I didn’t know what this was. He said a real date, but maybe he means he’s done playing our game—done helping me.
“You look beautiful,” he tells me as I brush my hands down my simple black dress and take the seat opposite him. He picked a nice place, intimate. I thank the waiter as he fills my glass with a bottle of red Joshua must have picked out.
“I took the liberty. I thought you might be standing me up.” He taps his watch.
“Sorry, I’m not usually late. I hit traffic,” I lie, and he knows it.
He steeples his hands on the table, like in prayer, and studies me with an intense stare. I feel utterly stripped bare.
“How was your day?” I ask, swallowing my nerves.
“Uneventful. Long,” he emphasizes. “I had a hot date I was looking forward to.” He winks.
Rolling my eyes, I look him over. The suit he’s wearing was made for his body, gripping tight in all the right places. The tie matches the color of his eyes. “Tell me something about you,” I say, fiddling with the napkin on my lap.
“Something basic, deep, or…?”
“Something you’ve never told anyone.”
“Okay,” he says without even thinking about it. “When I was a boy, almost fourteen, I used to do odd jobs here and there for pocket money around the neighborhood.” A cloud of something I can’t decipher settles in his eyes. “I used to maintain the grass for a couple, Mr. and Mrs. Graham. A sweet older couple who used to tip me well.” He pauses to pass me the menu. “One day I go over there and begin doing what I’d done a thousand times before. Usually they were both at work, but Mr. Graham’s car was in the driveway. I went to the front door and found it unlocked.”