Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 59044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
I never let myself slip in public like that again.
No true emotions, no matter how shitty I was feeling.
I opted for a pair of on-trend loose leg clean denim—cut-outs are out this year, claimed all the experts—and paired it with a bright pop of pink sweater—Barbiecore is still all the rage—before grabbing a pair of ballet flats. I grumbled as I slipped them on. I was a heel girl. But heels, apparently, were also out.
I reminded myself that it was still okay to wear heels on a night out. It was just a fashion-no to wear them during the day now.
Finished, I grabbed my wallet and key, then scooped up Hugh, and made my way out of the door.
I was only maybe halfway down the street when I heard my name being called out.
I ignored that.
It wasn’t uncommon for someone to call out to me, but I didn’t feel under any obligation to turn around and walk back to someone on the street. If they were ahead of me or next to me or something, that was different. But I was trying to remind myself that I didn’t owe them backtracking time.
Not two minutes later though, I felt a strong hand close around my upper arm, pulling me to a stop.
“The fuck are you doing?” that deep, sexy voice growled at me.
He had a good growl, too.
“Going to get coffee,” I said, trying to yank my arm away, but his hand only gripped me tighter.
“I need to be with you,” he insisted.
“That’s not my problem,” I said, yanking away a little harder this time.
I think the only reason he released me was because it was a crowded street, and some people were looking.
“It’s your job to keep your eye on me. So… do your job,” I said, then turned and started walking again.
Bitchy?
Yes.
Did he deserve it?
Probably not.
I was just resentful about having these never-ending babysitters. It seemed like as soon as I got rid of one, a new one popped back up. I didn’t think I ever got longer than two or three days between them.
It was like I’d never left home, like I was still a damn child.
The thing was, I couldn’t exactly put my foot down, and insist they leave my house, my life. Because if I did that, my father would financially cut me off. It was his trust. He could change the terms on a whim.
Sure, I did earn my own money. And by many people’s standards, it was a lot of money.
It simply wasn’t enough to keep my penthouse, to continue to eat all my meals out of the house, to go wherever I wanted on vacation, to buy whatever clothes I desired.
Maybe that made me spoiled, but if my father wanted to point fingers on whose fault that was, he’d have to direct that finger toward himself. I was a product of the childhood he’d provided. I got everything I wanted. I went on luxurious vacations with him and my mom.
Then, of course, after my mom died, leaving me all alone save for my wretched nanny, since he was always at work, he overcompensated for his absence with monetary things.
If he didn’t like who I’d become, the blame was squarely on his shoulders.
And yet, I was forced to deal with these invasive bodyguards.
Not to sound like a complete twat, but some of them were fucking creeps. It didn’t matter that some of them were old enough to be my father, I’d caught several of them peeping in on me when I changed or when I was in the shower.
Even the ones I thought were decent guys ended up doing something that pissed me off or made me uncomfortable enough to become such a monster that they had no choice but to quit.
The last one, a guy I’d caught taking pictures of me when I had a face and hair mask on in the privacy of my own damn home, had been run out of the penthouse thanks to extended and relentless sleep deprivation. I waited until he passed out, then woke his ass up with some loud noise or another.
Three days was all it took to send him packing after that. Not before telling me exactly what he thought of my spoiled, bratty, and selfish behavior, though.
There hadn’t been a single ‘good guy’ in the bunch so far, so I was under no delusions about this one.
All that handsome probably let him get away with shit that the other, less attractive, men who’d been pushed into my life couldn’t.
I had my eye on him, that was all I could say.
He would do something shady as hell eventually.
They all did.
Then I’d have to figure out how to run him out.
Something about the way he carried himself, though, made me think he wouldn’t be as easy as the rest.