Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Nora. My great aunt that I love more than anything else in this whole world. There would be no means to take care of her. It was the first thing Garrick reminded me of. He knew it was my Achilles’ heel.
My phone vibrates inside the small pocket of my soft yellow Valentino dress that gracefully sweeps the floor. I itch to reach for it to see what Cara has texted but I can’t. The phone isn't one my brother knows about. It’s the only way I can have some contact with the outside world that isn't tracked. My other phone is monitored by Garrick. I know he screens my calls and reads every single detail in my messages. I have to be so careful, even with my search history. He checks every single aspect of my life. I am surprised I’ve gotten away with having a secret cell phone. It is the only thing that keeps me sane some days.
“Do you have makeup on?” My eyes jerk to Garrick at the random question. My mind freezes for a moment trying to remember if I have put any on. I’m also not sure what the correct response should be. Would having makeup on be a good thing or not? “Rose.” He snaps my name when I don’t answer him.
“Careful, Garrick. Roses look soft and sweet. Touchable. But they do have thorns,” a deep voice rumbles.
My eyes shift from my brother to Hunter, who stands in the doorway. His presence demands attention. Everything about him does. The pictures I’ve seen don’t do the man justice. Sure, he was handsome in them, but in person he is bigger than life. Now I know why all the girls have been talking about him. If his words were tangible, I would grasp them and hide them in my pocket with my secret phone.
I don’t know whether that should worry me or not. In an instant he seems to see right through the fake shield I’ve slid into place. His eyes lock with mine. I fight a smile, knowing without having to look at Garrick that he’s not pleased with Hunter using his first name. Garrick takes such pride in the Vandermeer name. He throws it around as much as he can. I gaze into Hunter’s dark eyes, knowing in that moment he is a man who will stop at nothing until he gets what he wants. I have a feeling that I am just that and he won’t be satisfied until he has me. I am the pretty prize to be had. Why else would I be here?
Chapter 3
Hunter
She looks defiant and terrified at the same time and, perhaps, if I was a better person, as Miller claimed I was, I’d be ashamed at how aroused that makes me. But I’m not a better person. I’m a cruel one who has done little but plot vengeance for the last two decades and the last piece of my masterpiece is cutting the very last flower on the family tree. After which, I will salt the earth so that the tree not only withers and dies but nothing can ever grow from there again.
“Hunter,” Garrick acknowledges, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
“Mr. Keal,” I correct and not in a gentle voice either.
“Huh?” Garrick gapes at me.
“My name. You should address me by my name.” I don’t want to hear him call me by the name my mother gave me. He doesn’t deserve that right. My gaze drifts to the small woman shrinking back against the black leather cushion. She doesn’t like my tone of voice, I sense. She doesn’t need to like me. She only needs to submit, I remind myself. “Come,” I order.
I walk to my desk without a backwards glance because I know the two will follow. They have no other choice—not even the thorny Rose. I’d be on her before she even could. I am going to have her one way or another. When I take my seat, they’re at the door. Garrick has a hand placed on the small of Rose’s back. She’s arching forward, ever so slightly, to avoid his touch. He doesn’t notice because Garrick is incapable of seeing anything beyond his own long nose.
“Sit.”
The dark-haired man scowls but does as I order, pushing Rose ahead of him. She nearly stumbles, walking in sky-high lemon-colored heels. The painted red sole peeps in and out of view as she crosses the carpet to sink gracefully into one of the black leather chairs in front of my desk. She hooks her ankles together and tucks them behind her. Hands are placed primly in her lap, spine is ramrod straight, and her chin is up, but despite all her attempts to look composed, the signs of her nerves are everywhere. She twists the single silver band around her finger. There’s a light flush sweeping across the delicate collarbones exposed by the scooped neck of her expensive Valentino dress. Beyond all of those things, it’s her gaze that gives her away. She can’t seem to focus on any one thing. Her eyes flit from the windows overlooking Columbus Circle to my tie pin to the door.