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)
When I spy “Boss” on the caller ID—not from being nosy, but because it’s lit up and in my face—I can feel a prickle of unease slide up my spine in reaction. Because I know “Boss” is Erick West, his father. It’s what Damion started calling him from his young teens, which would have been strange to me had I not known his father myself. Damion was always a protégé, not a son.
And I was always beneath them all to Erick West.
Not to Sheryl, Damion’s mother, who was always friendly with my mother and me, But, she isn’t the “boss” nor is she the king of Wall Street. Erick West is the boss to his family, and to many in and outside his personal circle, king of Wall Street. King of the world, it always seemed to me as a kid, but most certainly king of his own household.
I hand the phone to Damion. He hands me a box of tissues, but my real focus is on him. He’s eyeing a text message on his phone, and I’m watching his reaction, the flex of his jaw, the hardening of his handsome features. All of this tells me nothing has changed about the contrary relationship between father and son.
Deciding he might need space to call his father back, I offer Damion that privacy by way of my actions. “I’m going to the bathroom.” I scoop up his shirt, and right when I expect to go to the bathroom, he’s beside me, scooping me up.
I yelp in surprise. “What are you doing?” I laugh.
“I used to do this all the time.”
“To prove you were manly and strong enough,” I tease.
We enter the bedroom where I barely get a glimpse of a king-sized bed before he flips on a bathroom light, enters the room, and sets me on the counter.
“I am manly,” he assures me, wiggling his eyebrows. “And strong enough,” he adds, but there’s a somberness now present that wasn’t moments before. As if that last statement isn’t about us, but him, and maybe his father. “I’ll let you pee,” he adds. “Because I know you have to. You always have to pee.”
He’s not wrong, but there is something wrong with him, though I never get the chance to question what and why. He’s walking away and then gone, exiting the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. I’m not sure if that means I was just shut out too. Once again, Damion is the king of mixed messages.
With urgency thrumming through me, I hurry to the bathroom, clean up, pull on the T-shirt and head back to the living room. Damion isn’t on the phone. He’s dressed in only his jeans, waiting on me. “I ordered pizza,” he declares when I sit down next to him.
I study him, noting the tension along his jawline that tells me he’s on edge and putting on a show. “Nothing is wrong?”
“Why would anything be wrong?” he asks, pulling me close. “We’re here together.”
I press my hand to his face. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
“Baby, I don’t want to talk.” He kisses me again and then declares. “I didn’t finish what I started. I have just enough time before the pizza gets here.”
Just that quickly, I’m naked again and he’s kissing me all over.
And just that easily, I’m shut out by being turned on.
Chapter Fifteen
Alana
An hour later, our stomachs are full and our moods sentimental. We’re back on the couch, with my legs draped over his lap again. Somehow, as impossible as it might seem, despite talking nonstop, we’ve managed to avoid the awkward subject of the three-year gap between us. By doing so, we’ve also managed to talk about everything and anything we’d missed in each other’s lives during those three years. Which, in summary, translates to me focusing on school while he’s already become a major player in corporate America. No surprise there. I saw how corporate America liked him at the social.
“I feel behind the game,” I confessed, listening to all he’s already accomplished.
“You always wanted to rush everything,” he commented. “And my business is too unsavory for you, Alana. And I like it that way. You should, too.”
I sit up and curl my legs to the side of my body. My brows dip. “What do you mean, unsavory?”
“We’re corporate raiders. You know that, right?”
“You’re an investment firm.”
“We are, but my father, and our business model in general, has developed a reputation for corporate raiding. Hostile takeovers destroy lives, and line rich people’s pockets.”
“And you’re one of those rich people?”
“My father is.”
I tilt my chin and study him a moment. His expression is hard lines and shadows, his eyes hooded. I’m not sure I’ve ever known him to be guarded. “And you are what?”
“His protégé.” He lifts the glass of scotch he poured after dinner and downs the contents before he stands and takes me with him. “Let’s go to the bedroom.” He surprises me and scoops me up, but this time it’s different. He’s not in the playful mood he’s been in the rest of this night one little bit.