Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
“All right.”
He grins as he walks around the car, clapping me on the shoulder. “Thanks, Damien.”
After saying goodbye, I get into my car and drive through the city. It’s still taking some getting used to driving on this side of the road. The traffic isn’t much different from London, though, and soon I’m in bumper-to-bumper midday traffic, my mind wandering as I inch slowly forward.
I think about Danielle and what ideas she’s going to have for the business. Though I’ve kept in contact with Max since moving away, and although he told me about Danielle’s progress through high school and her internship, I haven’t seen a photo of her in four years.
Max only showed me that photo because it was of all three of them, Max, Danielle, and Danielle’s stepmom, Lacey.
It doesn’t matter, I reflect as the traffic starts moving again. All that matters is what she’s able to offer my business.
True, this is a favor to Max, but I’m also going to be pumping a lot of money into this, so hopefully, she can come up with some good ideas.
As I drive, I think about the fact I never ask to see photos of Max’s family. It doesn’t come from malice or me not caring. We talk about Lacey and Danielle all the time, and photos simply never come up in conversation, but now that I’m home, I find curiosity getting the better.
It’s also the thought of Max’s face next time I see him, the way he’ll smile when I tell him I made a Facebook account just to look at his photos.
Despite my minor celebrity status, I avoid social media. Maybe that’s why it’s remained minor, but I’ve never seen the appeal of being glued to a screen.
No, a voice whispers, with a laugh buried in it. You’re just a technophobic old man.
I ride the elevator up to my apartment, smirking softly. I can’t argue with that. I’m forty-one, and I missed the wave of social media, never got caught up in the hype, and was too focused on the business, improving my craft, and making something of myself.
After making myself a protein shake and grabbing a snack, I sit down in front of my laptop and log onto Facebook.
The publicist for the TV show in England created an account, I know that, and would often post as though it was coming from me. But I’ve never had a personal one.
Logging in, I search for Max’s name. His profile photo shows him with his arms wrapped around two women.
They’re standing next to a lake, the water glistening in the sunlight behind them. You can see the forest stretching to the horizon on the other side. The date tells me this was from their summer trip.
I recognize Lacey, with her shoulder-length blonde hair and slight build.
But the other woman...
My heart starts pounding so hard in my chest, thumping so hard that I’m sure it’s going to break free. I swallow a big ball of tension as I stare at the woman. Her curvy form is framed gorgeously in her summer dress, her breasts full with a hint of cleavage, her hips wide. Her smile is bright, and her brown hair is messy down past her shoulders. Her eyes are wide and beautiful with a hint of innocence, as though she’s desperate for an older man to take her, own her, and put a baby inside of her.
I’m gripping the desk so hard the laptop shakes, my body trembling, my knuckles white.
“I need her,” I growl, wondering who she is. Who could she possibly be, this stranger who’s provoked so much sudden desire in me?
My cock is rock-hard. My head is pulsing. My whole world feels like it’s reshaping, a new structure aimed toward this woman and this woman alone.
Insane, impossible thoughts flurry through my mind. I imagine holding her, kissing her, then sliding inside her.
“This is it,” I’d growl in her ear. “Your body needs my seed. You’re going to give me a family....”
The fantasy comes to a sudden halt when my gaze moves to the edge of the screen.
Max has put a description of the photo.
Maybe the woman is a friend of Lacey’s, or her sister, or something. That’s what I try to tell myself.
But then why would Max have his arm around her?
I reel back, breathing heavily through gritted teeth, as the knowledge slams into me – I read the name.
Danielle Jones.
“Fuck,” I whisper, trying to look away from her.
And yet I can’t.
I study her closely, trying to convince myself she’s not Max’s daughter. There has to be some mistake.
But there isn’t.
It’s her, the only woman who’s ever made me feel anything.
She’s made me feel more with one photo than anybody has, in person or online, or anything else.
“Fuck,” I say again, doubling my efforts to turn away from the screen.