Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
My mouth falls open. That’s how shocked I am. I can feel my face heat as I falter. “I don’t understand.”
“Take it at face value,” he advises.
I shake my head, feeling shocked and...kind of stung. “I just don’t get— Why did you do this? Why pay so much if you don’t want... If you don’t want this. Does this have to do with Priscilla Heat?” It doesn’t seem logical, but then again, nothing about him does. Maybe bidding on me was just a means to an end. A bet or something. Maybe he wants me to be in a film.
“Priscilla and I are not an item,” he says wearily. “Trust me.”
I have no reason to trust him, as he’s already pointed out, but even if I did, it still doesn’t explain why he just paid millions of dollars to take my virginity, only to now offer me this bizarre…I don’t even know what to call it.
Then I have a terrible thought. What if he’s decided he doesn’t want me anymore, and this is the best way he can think of to let me down gently?
“Have some of your drink, Libby. Hal will have your luggage in soon and I’ll show you to your room.” He rubs a hand through his blond hair, and once again, I find myself fighting to control my emotions.
I run my gaze over him, focusing on how he looks, on the way the dim light shadows him.
“You look tired.”
One eyebrow arches, a similar expression to the one that Marchant Radcliffe makes. When it’s clear he’s not planning to answer, and the ensuing silence has stolen all my bolder questions, I decide to ask about that. “You and Marchant have been friends since college, right?”
He nods.
“Tulane?”
“Right.” He takes a swallow of his bourbon. “I’m surprised you know.”
I know I have to be red as an apple, but I try to cover. “You’re kind of famous.”
“It’s the TV,” he says. “People watch you, they feel like they know you.”
That hits a little close to home, and I smirk to cover my nervousness. “Do you consider yourself easy to get to know?”
He regards me over the rim of his glass, looking like a grumpy bear. “What do you think?”
I lift an eyebrow. “I think our relationship is...weird. Our interactions, rather. I’m not sure I’m in a position to say.”
He stares at me—almost through me—for a second before bringing his glass back to his mouth. I get the feeling he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He just sits there, looking tense and tired, and I’m babbling again out of nervousness.
“Did you play tonight? You’re wearing black.”
“I did.”
“Did you win?”
“No.”
“You didn’t win?”
He looks grave—but maybe he’s just giving me his poker face. “Shocking, isn’t it?”
I press my lips together. “I thought you hadn’t lost in almost a year.”
“I hadn’t.”
“Oh. Well I’m sorry to hear that.”
He snorts. “I don’t give a shit.”
He looks behind my head, in the direction of a clock I hear ticking, and stands, leaving his glass on one of the shelves. “Come with me. I’ll show you to your room.”
I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he leads me back down the elegant hallway, toward the foyer and its staircase. For a moment all I hear is the swishing of our clothes and the soft pad of our shoes.
“What will it be?” he asks gruffly. “Would you rather stay the week or get the deed done now?”
We round a corner to the entry hall, and I ball my hands into fists. Why did I ever think I could handle this? My heart is pounding and my knees feel weak. I’m so confused. I want to run, but I take a deep breath instead.
I manage to flash Hunter a nonchalant look. “You’re the winning bidder. It’s your choice,” I say as we reach the stairs.
“Then we’ll wait.”
It takes a few seconds for the shock of that to sink in. Hunter doesn’t want me? Or maybe he wants me around longer. “If you’re doing this for my benefit, please don’t. You get what you want. You paid enough.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
I’m going to ask him more about his week-long plan—as well as how that will effect the terms of our agreement with Love Inc.—when I notice how carefully he’s moving up the stairs. I think about his back again, which reminds me of Priscilla, but still, I feel a swell of sympathy for him.
“How is your back? Are you feeling any better?”
“Are you always so solicitous, or is it my charm that brings that side of you out?”
I think he’s teasing, but I don’t realize that until after I’ve spoken honestly. “I’m not sure.” Then I add this little gem: “I’ve never had a boyfriend.”
It was relevant in my head; whatever this is with Hunter is the closest I’ve ever come to Romantic Relationship Land. But he didn’t need to know that.