Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 36964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
“Hmmm,” I moan, taking my first bite, not even bothering to make a plate or wait until the tray is on the counter. I lift the saran wrap and sneak my fingers inside for the salami and mozzarella. Crackers be damned. I just need something now. Boston’s child demands food on the regular, and if he or she doesn’t get it, well, I’m left hungry, angry, and with a killer headache. This pregnancy hasn’t been smooth sailing like some others I know, but I’m alright with it. I’m better than most, and I’m still able to get up, work, and get on with my daily tasks. I finish that bite, this time with more patience. I make another little sandwich with crackers, leaning over the sink because of the crumbs that will to no doubt fall when I bite into the goodness.
“Amelie, will you grab the door? I’ll be right down,” Boston interrupts my moment with food. How does he know anyone is at the door? I didn’t hear a doorbell. I grumble and take the last bite, stuffing it in my mouth as I dust off the crumbs from my hands and off the sink, then do the same to my face as I make my way to the front door. I should be annoyed that I’m meeting all his friends face to face for the first time without him. The truth of the matter is, I’m not. I’ve met Sylvester, talked to the others a handful of times, and Boston has a relationship with them that’s so close I feel like we’ve already met.
“Hey, guys,” I say with a smile on my face after making my way to the massive wood door, unlocking the deadbolt and lock on the knob, twisting it, and flinging the door open. Only to stand in front of who I know as Governor Wescott. A sense of déjà vu hits me. Here is another irate-looking man. Oh, joy. Lucky freaking me.
“Where’s Boston?” he demands. I cross my arms over my breasts, hip cocked out, foot holding the back of the door open, letting him know that he will not be let in. Over my dead fucking body. Boston protected me. Now it’s my turn to protect the man I love more than myself.
“He’s busy.” We’re in a deadlock of who will blink first. He may be a wealthy politician, but I’ve dealt with far worse. My own father was the definition of crooked, and while I don’t know the entire story of why the man in front of me is a vile piece of shit, I’m knowledgeable in the fact that Boston has a relationship with most anyone. Even if he doesn’t know you, he’s at least cordial.
“Make him unbusy. Are you the slut of the week for my son? I can see he has good taste. Nice tits, curves, and a mouth made for sucking cock.” How I remain stoic, unlike my normal self that would unleash a slew of words right back in his face, along with a swift kick in the tiny balls he so clearly sports, is a damn miracle. I also know his type. He thrives on making people tick. Belittling them with each word is how he works. Too bad I had my own version of hell in the form of a father. Governor Wescott isn’t anything to write home about. A bully in his own respect, throwing out words to make you feel worse about yourself.
“Like I said, he’s busy. I’ll let him know you stopped by.” My arms drop from my chest. He must see that I’m going to close the door, because as I go to shut it, his foot is at the ready, pushing it back open so hard that I’m almost knocked on my ass. Except it doesn’t happen. Boston is at my back, cushioning my blow, and judging by the growl coming from him, I’m going to have to diffuse this situation, fast.
“Governor Wescott, I do believe you’re trespassing.” My eyes move downward, seeing he is certainly standing within the foyer of Boston’s house. “I’d suggest you leave. Now,” Boston grounds out. The vibration from his chest hits my back.
“I paid for this place. I’ll damn well stay here with your little two-bit whore if I want to!” Jesus, can’t anyone come back with something original? This is getting tiring. Slut, whore, it’s all the same for men who think they’re better than anyone else, especially when it’s them who are those names.
“Leave now.” Boston starts to move me out of his way when we’re saved by the miracles of all miracles. Sylvester is front and center, followed by Parker, Ezra, Theo, Nessa, and Millie in the background, probably because their men knew Boston wouldn’t leave his door open to invite the man who makes everyone’s life a living hell.