Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
His lips press together. “How, exactly, do they know each other?”
“Alana sold her a property and Mary is fond of her.”
“Oh, Christ. Alana Blue always makes you stupid. She literally leads you around by the dick. You do know that if you tell the board you need the help of a real estate agent, who you are fucking to complete a hundred-million-dollar deal, you’ll look like a little bitch, right? I’d reconsider your actions.” He smirks. “But I always told you I’d let you dig your grave, son. Dig.” He chuckles. He gets up and walks for the door.
At this point, I’m pretty sure my father is the one who had the press follow Alana and me. I also suspect he got wind of her joining the dinner tonight, which most likely came from someone on Mary’s staff. He may even have an idea of my bigger plan to unseat him. If he believes I’ll succeed, he’s already planning to destroy this deal to save himself. The question is what?
I’m beating him at his game. He knows it.
Now this game gets real in a dangerous way.
He’d crash a hundred-million-dollar deal if it saved himself, and I have a feeling that is exactly what he intends. He’ll paint it as if my distraction with Alana was the problem. He probably called the press to catch me leaving early this morning in yesterday’s clothes. He’d be more than willing to leak Nick Blue’s gambling problem to play into that narrative, and he probably will.
He has a plan.
The question is what?
And how do I turn it against him?
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Alana
I’m a wreck on set.
I forget my lines, I trip, I even spill a coffee all over a desk. I don’t even want to know how much of all of it will be kept for the integrity of “reality tv” premise that is just a premise. It’s not real, and I’m not sure what is in my life right now. When we finally break for lunch, I can’t even go to my office for an escape. It’s all set up with mics and cameras. I have a trailer and I escape to it, and collapse on the couch inside. There’s food on a table waiting on me, but I ignore it.
My mother has lost herself. My father is outside of anything I recognize as him. How could either of them come at me on set?
And Damion—I just don’t know what to think about him. All my life I’ve been waiting for him to be my hero. And he was, wasn’t he? He saved my family ten years ago. He’s saving us now, again. Isn’t he? But that’s not what I mean.
I stand up and start pacing.
Is he really helping me or is he helping himself? He says let’s get naked, and I strip on command. He says. I do. I’m like my mother now, too in love to say no.
My trailer door opens, and I whirl around to find Damion standing there, looking deliciously male as always. I’m clearly incapable of seeing the man and not having that thought. I’m at his command and it has to end. If it doesn’t, I will never know what is really going on between us. I mean, I’ve told him I love him—sort of—and he has never said those words to me. All he says is goodbye. And even that was in a letter.
He steps into the trailer and shuts the door. “Alana.”
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
“You aren’t taking my calls or text messages,” he says, and why does he have to smell this good? Why does that earthy, manly scent make me want to forgive him when I don’t even know what I’m forgiving him for?
“I’m filming,” I say.
“You’re upset about the press,” he assumes.
“Yes, I’m upset about the press. And everyone who has something to say about it.”
“Your parents.”
“They both came on set and flipped out.”
He steps closer. I step backward. “Alana,” he says softly, compelling me to come closer.
“I understand you’re the king of getting well-timed press that helps close deals,” I blurt, unable to keep the accusation out of my voice.
He holds up a hand. “You think I called the press?” he states. “Really, Alana?”
“I’m asking. Did you?”
“No. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“They never showed up until you were with me, and you needed to be connected to me to win over Mary.”
His energy shifts, darkens. His jaw tightens, his voice with it. “You agreed to do it.”
“You might not have known that when you called the press.”
“I told you, I didn’t do it.” His voice is low but anger crackles in its depths.
“I know.”
“You don’t believe me,” he says, and it’s not a question. He’s not big on questions right now.
“I don’t know what to believe. I never understand what is going on with us.”