Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
The moment she’s away from prying eyes, her shoulders slump a little, and she takes a deep breath.
She looks exhausted.
I tail her out of the hotel and watch as she walks toward a Bugatti. She doesn’t look around her, then climbs into the vehicle and drives away.
She’s an easy target.
I could’ve killed her ten different ways in the five minutes it took her to reach her car. Never mind, taking her out on the way to her home.
Christ, this job is going to take patience I don’t have.
Chapter 2
Cami
(One week later…)
Walking into my family home, where every nook and cranny is filled with memories from my childhood, my body relaxes.
There are only two places on this planet where I don’t have to pretend – my penthouse and my father’s house.
Everywhere else, I have to be the perfect socialite.
The aroma of roasted chicken and garlic hangs in the air. My stomach grumbles, and I head to the kitchen, where Philippe is busy preparing my favorite meal. He’s been my father’s chef for over twenty years and is practically a member of the family.
Walking into the kitchen, a smile spreads over my face at the sight of the golden roasted chicken.
Philippe spots me and instantly shakes his head. “No, princesse. You can wait ten minutes and eat with your father.”
I press a kiss to his cheek and bat my eyelashes, which draws a chuckle from him.
He holds up his pointer finger. “Only one potato.”
I don’t waste time and grab a crispy roasted potato from the tray. “No one makes these as good as you do,” I praise him before sinking my teeth into the crunchy goodness.
I enjoy food too much to be a stick insect like the other socialites. I tried to diet several times but was always unhappy, so I gave up and made peace with my body. Plus, life’s too short to starve myself when there’s so much goodness to be found in food.
Philippe lets out a sigh, but a smile tugs at his mouth.
After devouring the potato, I ask, “How are you?”
“Same as the last time I saw you,” he mutters while cutting the chicken into pieces.
Philippe has always been a man of few words, so I’m not bothered by his answer.
He uses the carving knife to point to the door. “Your papa is waiting.”
I give Philippe a smile before leaving him in his sacred space and head to the informal lounge where Papa usually sits in the early afternoon sun while catching up on the news.
When I hear a man’s voice rumbling, my eyebrow lifts. Papa didn’t mention that we’re having company for lunch. Usually, it’s just the two of us.
As I enter the room, I see Papa sitting in his armchair, a serious expression on his face. I follow his line of sight, and the moment my eyes land on the stranger, I freeze.
Mother of God.
If I had to take a wild guess, I’d say the man is in his early or mid-thirties. He has chestnut brown hair that’s cut in a neat style, with a week’s worth of bristles covering his jaw. His nose could’ve been broken at some point, but it only lends character to his attractive features.
What has me staring like an awe-struck idiot is his eyes.
God, his eyes.
I’m not sure if they’re gray or the lightest shade of green I’ve ever seen. I’ll have to get closer to be sure.
His dark eyebrows make the color pop and lend them an intensity that has me squirming.
Piercing is the only word I can think of to describe his penetrating gaze locked on me like a heat-seeking missile.
Jesus.
I swallow hard, and it takes more willpower than I have to tear my eyes away from the attractive man and look at my father.
A smile wavers around my lips as I walk toward my father, and leaning over him, I press a kiss to his cheek. “Hi, Papa,” I whisper before clearing my throat. “I didn’t know we’re having company today.”
Papa gestures at the armchair next to his. “Sit, mon amour.”
I give Papa a questioning gaze, and as I take a seat, I glance at the imposing attractive force who’s still staring at me as if he’ll find the answers to the universe inside me.
Papa places his hand on mine and gives it a squeeze, then looks at me with a world of worry. “This is Max Levin. He’ll be your bodyguard.”
A wave of shock hits from the unexpected news, and I feel it ripple over my body.
What?
My mouth drops open, and my eyebrows furrow.
“Why?” I manage to ask while my eyes lock on Max Levin.
Max Levin.
His name doesn’t suit him. I expected Hunter or something more predatory.
Max.
Such a normal name for such an intense man.
Papa clears his throat, then explains, “I’ve received death threats. If I don’t withdraw from politics, you’ll be killed.”