Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
“The will, I know, John. I may be a woman, but I’m not that stupid. I thought some tea would be nice while we talk numbers and all that jazz.”
“Actually, Evie,” he says slowly and hesitantly, “we won’t be talking any numbers today…”
I turn slowly and look at him. I’ve only met John a handful of times when I was with my dad and we had to go and meet him at his office, but he’s normally a very confident and composed man. Today, he seems off. Right now especially. I’m not sure why, but something’s very obviously bothering him.
“What do you mean?” I ask. “John, what’s going on?”
John shuffles his feet nervously and looks down. I’ve never seen him like this at all. He’s anxious about something, and it in turn is making me anxious.
“John.”
“Evie, I’m sorry, but Maddox’s…your father’s will is being held by someone.” His voice trembles as he speaks, and he can’t even look me in the eyes as he says the words.
It takes me a second to even process what he just said.
“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘being held’ by someone?”
John nods, still not looking at me.
“What does that mean exactly?”
“It means,” he says, clearing his throat, “that we can’t discuss your father’s estate…and that you won’t be able to receive any of the money he left for you until this individual chooses to release the will.”
I take a few seconds to glance around my living room for cameras. This has to be one of those reality shows that people think are funny, right? Where some TV station with its numbers waning hires some insufferable host to go around harassing people down on their luck, only to jump out at the last second and scream, “It’s just a prank, bro!”
But the room looks the same as when I left it, and with none of the lights on, I can’t imagine a camera getting a good shot of me or of John. No, this is actually happening right now. My dad has been murdered, and his lawyer is telling me that his inheritance has been stolen from me by…
“Someone. And who is this someone?” I ask. “That’s a pretty important piece of information, I think.”
“That would be me.” A voice from the door startles me, getting my attention. John almost jumps out of his skin at the sound and shuffles aside, lowering his eyes even more like a baby rabbit in the presence of a lion, as though the lion won’t see him and therefore won’t choose to devour him.
The voice belongs to a man, a lethally gorgeous man, with high, sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw that would make Brad Pitt jealous. His eyes are piercing and blue, a blue that reminds me of ice, and seem to stare right through me as though I were nothing. In all my life, I’ve never been so attracted to, yet so put off by anyone.
“Mr. Alister,” John mutters under his breath.
“You can go, John,” the man replies dismissively. This is a man used to getting his way—a man used to being obeyed.
“Sir,” John replies as he scurries out the door like a child leaving the principal’s office.
Now alone with the stranger, I feel paradoxically trapped in my own home. Part of me wants to call the cops, yet another part of me wants to invite him in and make him tea and something to eat.
Without a word, the man lets his eyes drag up my body, starting at my feet and moving slowly up every inch of me without a hint of shame. He pauses on my hips, then again on my breasts. My nipples are hard beneath my shirt from the chill of the cold, rainy day. He doesn’t quite smile, but the corners of his mouth curve up ever so slightly, and when his eyes meet mine again, he shakes his head.
“My, you’ve grown, haven’t you?”
“Do I know you?” I snip.
“We met once when you were little.” His voice is like iron, strong and unwavering. “It’s no wonder you don’t remember me. I worked with your father.”
“You knew my father?” I ask. “At the insurance company?”
The man laughs like I just told a joke and clears his throat.
“Insurance, right,” he mutters. “My name is Callum Alister. Do you know the name?”
I freeze. Every muscle in my body goes tight. My fight or flight reflex kicks in, and I instantly think of whether or not the back door is locked or not.
Callum Alister. The most notorious crime boss in all of New York. Operating completely independently and outside of the mafia, some say even more powerful than the mafia, and here he is standing in my living room. Everyone has heard of him.
“I can see by the look on your face that you do,” he says.