Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
For better or worse, at least I’d finally know if I had a chance.
My heart began to pound, and I tried to remember the advice Hannah and Joy had given me. Be direct, tell him how I felt, and put it out there. I deserved better than being strung along. I deserved to know where I stood with Mark. All their guidance, which had sounded so good a few minutes ago as I mentally replayed it, suddenly seemed to be nothing but nonsense.
A small part of me, the part that hated confrontation, told me not to answer his call. Maybe I could pretend that I had no idea about the email with the book. I must have been hacked.
The alcohol I’d consumed warmed my blood as I snorted.
Yeah, someone hacked my email in order to send him high end smut.
Right.
The chime came again, and I took another step closer.
I was doing it. I was going after what I wanted. I was being brave and strong.
I was going to puke.
Taking a seat in my wide, comfy white leather computer chair, I opened the video chat with Mark and pasted on a fake smile.
“Hi, how was your trip?”
Leaning forward on his elbows, his normally silvery blue eyes had darkened to a color closer to denim. “Terrible.”
Alarmed, I scanned his face and body, looking for signs of injury. He’d come back from his business trips hurt more than once, but I didn’t see anything wrong with him this time. I guess being a bodyguard was dangerous profession, especially when the company you work for is rumored to have cartel ties. Then again, every business in the world was rumored to have organized crime ties, so I wasn’t surprised. Everyone knew the crime lords had just as much power as the politicians, more in some cases.
He wore a pale blue button-down shirt that stretched tight over his broad shoulders, the sleeves rolled up revealing his thick forearms dusted with dark hair. The silver in his beard glinted as he said nothing, just tilting his head slightly as he stared at me. But his pale eyes weren’t cold, no, they scorched me to the soul as he stared and held my gaze, making me freeze in space.
I know some people might laugh, but I swore I could feel Mark’s strength through the screen of my computer. It wrapped around me like beloved arms, holding me tight, making me his. He did this sometimes, stared at me like he wanted to consume me, and it always left me breathless.
But…as usual…all he did was stare.
It took a lot, but I managed to break the hold of his gaze, focusing on the background of his living room as I said, “Have any fun in Miami?”
“Layla,” he said in a low growl and I tensed. “Why did you send me that book?”
“I…I thought you would like it.”
All my intentions of being brave and bold flew out the window as I all but quivered in my computer chair.
I darted a glance at his face, and my heart fell at his tortured expression.
“Layla, that’s not appropriate.”
Out of all his possible responses, it never occurred to me that he’d say that. “What?”
“You, sending me something like that. It’s not appropriate.”
“But…I thought…we’ve talked about that kind of thing in the past.”
His lips thinned, and his bearded jaw shifted into a familiar position of irritation. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t send me anything else like that book. We’re just friends.”
There it was. The final bullet to my heart.
A phrase I’d heard over and over again.
Guys liked me, were attracted to the fake-pretty package I presented to the world. When I wore my makeup, I knew people found me attractive. Pretty enough that they could ignore my little eccentricities. Guys usually split once they realized my small ‘quirks’ were actually pretty big, and that my beauty was just a mask. Literally. Then I became an object of pity—the nice girl they saw as a sister, not the hot bitch they’d initially wanted to fuck.
I saw that pity in Mark’s expressive eyes, and my world crashed and burned.
The man I’d idolized, the man I’d convinced myself was worth taking a chance on, had flat out rejected me.
My stupid mouth opened without my permission, and I practically whimpered, “But I thought you liked me.”
“I do like you. You’re my best friend.” Looking down at his folded hands, he said gently, “But there will never be anything more than friendship between us, Layla. And you need to stop trying to meet with me. I can’t be seen with you.”
“I-I…” To my horror, tears spilled down my cheeks, and Mark made a pained noise. “I have to go.”
After quickly disconnecting and ripping off my mic and headphones, I flew to the nearest bathroom and was sick. My stomach heaved as the pain of his rejection tore at me, reopening old wounds. Vali, my sweet amazing guy, whined as he licked my arm where it was wrapped around the rim of the toilet. After cleaning up and rinsing the vile taste of booze and stomach acid out of my mouth, I stumbled into my bedroom and grabbed one of my pillows. Throwing myself on the bed, I let the sobs I’d been holding back burst free.