Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Read Online Books/Novels: | Texting The CEO |
|---|---|
Author/Writer of Book/Novel: | Flora Ferrari |
| Language: | English |
| Book Information: | |
It was a mistake. I should never have stolen his phone number, mainly because of a silly crush. Felix Franklin is forty-two years old, the billionaire CEO of the company where I work as a lowly assistant. He wouldn’t look twice at me, and not just because of my position. I’m twenty, on the curvy side, spending a lot of my free time hunched over a sewing machine, dreaming of being a fashion designer. Felix is forty-two and ripped. His hair is iron, and his wolfish blue eyes are intense. He looks confident and dashing in photoshoots and an alpha in the extreme. But when I get his number, I can’t resist. I won’t have to meet him. I won’t have to tell him I’m a virgin or that he’s so much more experienced than me. Really, what harm can one text do? It turns out the answer is a lot. It can bring Felix crashing into my life in a whirlwind of possession, jealousy, and primal hunger. It can bring the darkness of our pasts up and make us reveal things we wanted kept secret. And it can bring us together…even if I’m always wondering, always doubting if he truly feels the same as I do. | |
| Books by Author: | Flora Ferrari |
CHAPTER ONE
Felix
“I can’t stand the idea of leaving you all alone in the world.”
Mom slumps in the chair, unable to sit upright, a handkerchief clutched in her hand. Her nurse, Sebastian, stands respectfully at the edge of my office, near the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city.
I lean forward and look my mother in the eye with a sigh. She was a solid, unbreakable woman when I was growing up, always in control.
The first time I watched her in a boxing match, I remember how stunned I was that this woman – this fierce tigress in the ring – was the same woman who tucked me in at night.
Now, her illness has made her weak.
Her cheeks are gaunt. Her eyes are pits.
Something dark drops into my stomach. It shouldn’t be this way. My mom should not be this way.
But what she’s asking is impossible.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
Some of her old fierceness comes into her expression.
She gestures with her hand. “Sorry for what?”
I laugh awkwardly. “For not finding a woman. For not giving you grandchildren. That’s what you’re pissed about, isn’t it?”
She grimaces. “Is that what you think it is? No, you silly boy, I don’t want you to be alone. You have everything a man could want…except somebody to share it with.”
I groan. We’ve had this conversation before. But it’s not as though I’m going to argue with my dying mother. Even before the illness began to take her, I didn’t make a habit of disrespecting her.
“Do you have something to say?” she snapped.
I shake my head, smirking. “Nothing much. Only that I’m not a boy anymore, Mom. I’m damn near fifty.”
Even if it’s not true, she laughs, her face lighting up. It’s moments like these when I can almost forget about her cancer.
But a second later, the laughter becomes a hacking cough. She leans over, coughing forcefully into her handkerchief. Sebastian moves from the window, the tall, lean man’s face pinched severely, but then Mom spins on him, shaking her head.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she says. “Just maybe… a glass of water, please.”
Sebastian moves to the edge of the room. My heart twitches as I take in the sight of my mother, looking so vulnerable I could roar.
We’ve tried everything. I've paid for expensive experimental treatments, trials, and even research with my fortune as CEO of one of America’s biggest media conglomerates.
And all I can do is make her comfortable. All I can do is attempt to make her last days not so painful.
Is there a chance?
The doc says there is, but not a big one. Maybe ten percent. Probably less.
Mom sips on her water and then frowns at me, though her eyes are glinting in a way I recognize well. People say I’ve got the same glint in my eye, that I inherited it from her. It reminds me of how she looked when I was a kid when our rent was late, and the landlord was harassing her, and I thought she would break his legs.
“Why haven’t you found a woman, Felix?”
“I’ve had girlfriends,” I say.
She tilts her head, not needing to speak. We both know I’ve never felt serious about anybody. I’ve stopped dating in recent years, not seeing the point in trying.