Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 104919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
No, that wasn’t even the question. Despite his years in this town, Duke sometimes forgot that everything here can be bought with money. Fame, friendship, love, hate. All of it was for sale.
Duke wasn’t going to pick up the bag, and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to listen to what Anastasia probably paid that man to say about her. Duke had worked with celebrities long enough to know that most of them were assholes. Entitled, spoiled, and considered themselves better than everyone.
Despite that, Duke had been raised not to judge a book by its cover or “a woman by another man’s opinion of her, especially if that man used to sleep with her” (coming from his grandmother, of course). No, his opinion of Anastasia did not come from the multiple rumors swirling around the industry. It came from personal experience.
Heading out.
Duke sent the message to Keltan, who had already informed him that they’d been in contact with the State’s Attorney. He, of course, wasn’t happy, but didn’t exactly have a leg to stand on considering they’d let two of their witnesses “disappear” while in protective custody—and there was a strong possibility someone in that office was on Kitsch’s payroll. It still amazed Duke the sway that Keltan had over powerful people. Of course, now that they were established and had a reputation, it was because many of those powerful people were clients. They’d done a lot of things, fixed fuckups that could’ve ended campaigns, stepped in when it looked like villains weren’t going to get locked up.
Good luck.
Duke scoffed at Keltan’s response. Yeah, luck was not what he needed for this shit.
He picked up the bag on the way out the door.
The inside of the cab had been silent for almost two hours.
Duke drove a truck. Big surprise. One that I practically needed a ladder to get into. I bet Duke got immense satisfaction from seeing me scramble into the passenger’s seat without an ounce of grace. He, of course, wasn’t about to help me up. Which was good, since my skin had still been tingling after envisioning Duke throwing me over his shoulder.
The goodbye with Andre had not been emotional. We didn’t do that kind of thing. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it.
As it was, I still couldn’t handle it, since I’d spent the last hour trying to hold my shit together and not let Duke see any weakness.
He’d seemed more than happy with the silence. Well, he hadn’t seemed happy. At all. But he’d not been radiating menace like he had in my foyer, so that was something.
But I would not mute myself to quell his macho-man fury. I was not one to silence myself because a man was more comfortable with the quiet.
“Where are we going?” I demanded.
I should’ve asked this a little earlier, like before I got in the car, considering the answer.
“Montana,” Duke said, eyes on the road, jaw hard.
When he’d worked for me before, he hadn’t tried to pretend that he liked me. But he’d also held onto a thin veil of professionalism that I’d prodded at because I was darkly fascinated with him. Because I was obsessed with him. I’d wanted a response, hadn’t I? And he was giving me one. Just not the one I wanted. Not the one I craved.
He was not here to give in to my fantasies. He was here to protect me. Nothing more. Nothing less.
“Montana?” I repeated.
He nodded once.
I quickly calculated the distance from LA to Montana. Granted, without the location of where in the state we were going, this wasn’t going to give me an accurate number but the ballpark was bad enough.
“That’s like twenty hours of driving.”
Duke didn’t look at me. He kept his gaze on the road as if he was taking a test on it. “Ah, the superstar can also calculate distances.”
I glared at him. “Pull over, I’m not driving for twenty hours with you.” Even though I put all my authority into the tone, he didn’t look like he was going to obey.
This was not a man that obeyed.
“Not doin’ that.”
I sucked in a breath. Tried to calm my rapid heart rate. My past made it so that it was integral for me to be able to control almost every moment of my life. My present made that possible. That’s what I’d wanted, the second I turned eighteen, the second I could escape. I hadn’t wanted to be famous, be in movies. I’d wanted to be in control. And I knew enough about life to understand that poor people had no control. So my singular goal had always been to accumulate enough wealth to control everything.
I’d sacrificed so much to get that control, and it was stolen from me with that gunshot. I lost it even further when I got into this truck with a man who made it obvious he didn’t care about my feelings and was prepared to drag me kicking and screaming to the state of his choice.