Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“Your father passed?”
“Yeah.” My fingers fold around a pair of oyster-colored lace knickers. I shove the cotton bra back, pulling out the one to match, without letting myself think too much about it.
“I’m sorry. The death of a parent is…”
“Inevitable.” Or so Polly says. The natural order of things. Chucking the underwear on my bed, I grab a tank and a pair of shorts from the next drawer, intending to grab a shirt from the hanger on my way out.
“But hard, all the same, especially when you still need them.”
The sorrow in his tone catches me off guard. I guess he knows what this feels like. “So how much does a used McLaren set you back?” I ask, not wanting to dwell on things I can’t change. I pull my tank over my head.
“Used? I don’t know. But I can tell you the price of a classic model.”
Classic? But the car looked brand new. “Go on, then. How much?”
“One point two mill,” he calls back.
“For a car?” I squeak. My hands hover in the air, shock making me forget what I was doing. Was I about to twist up my hair?
“It’s an investment.”
“Hang on a minute.” I turn to face my bedroom door. “The prenup payout will be less than you paid for your car?”
“For one of my cars.”
“Thanks for the distinction.” Arsehole.
“Honestly? I expected you to negotiate me up.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” I grate out, swinging back to face my dresser again. “Because I now feel cheated.”
“Pity we already shook on it.”
“It was a verbal agreement,” I protest, whipping my knickers down my legs before yanking the new pair on. “I can’t believe you let me think you’d hold me ransom for a measly three hundred thousand pounds!”
“Wasn’t for show, princess.”
“You’re no prince,” I mutter, stabbing my legs into my shorts. “More like a toad!”
“I’m the toad because you sold yourself short?”
My head jerks up because his voice sounds closer. And he is—standing at my open bedroom door. As I stand bare breasted, in my knickers, in the middle of the floor. “Do you mind?”
He doesn’t immediately answer, his gaze an indolent slide over my skin. “Am I supposed to?”
“What would you have gone to?” I demand, refusing to cover myself while ignoring the way my nipples tingle and tighten under the heat of his gaze.
“A lot more,” he says, his voice husky now. “But a million was enough to entice you.” He drops his shoulder to the doorframe and pushes his hands into his pockets. “And, according to your balance sheets, it’s no small sum to you.”
“You did not sneak a look at my accounts.” Grabbing my bra, I whip around to face the dresser as I slip it on. What is wrong with me? I’ll tolerate his slow perusal of my boobs, and my body, but I get arsey that he might’ve seen my accounts?
My boobs are in a better state, I suppose.
“I’m surprised your accountant is so sloppy, given your brother is a fintech superstar.”
“I chose my accountant.” Against Whit’s advice. “I have a friend who works there. Sort of a friend, anyway.” One Whit warned me against, and that’s why I went with her. I hate it when he’s right. Which is pretty much always.
“I’ll put you in touch with my finance people.”
“No, thank you.”
“They’re the best in the business.”
“Because they make you look squeaky clean?”
“Who says I’m not?”
Tod, I almost say. “Call it intuition,” I say instead. “Cunning and unprincipled and unscrupulous?” I glance over my shoulder. “Ring any bells?”
“You sound like you’ve read my school reports.”
I turn so as not to let him see my smile. But I shouldn’t be smiling, should I? Not when these seem to be the foundation of this relationship.
“I didn’t sell you short,” he then says. “You just failed to negotiate.”
“I forgot to add Peeping Tom to your list of character traits.” I pull my T-shirt over my head. I turn with the intention of dropping my clothes in the hamper when I find him standing close.
“Do you leave your door open so he can watch?” His question is a dangerous purr.
“I didn’t leave it open,” I reply, lifting my chin.
“For me or for him?” His eyes move slowly over my face as though reading exactly what his proximity does to me. The way my stomach twists and the needy, empty ache blooming between my legs.
It’s been a minute.
“I’m not talking about Tod,” I reply, pleased my voice sounds steady. “And this is supposed to be a business arrangement.”
“The door was open.”
“It wasn’t an invitation for you to watch.”
His brow suddenly furrows. “My flaws don’t extend to spying on women,” he says, pulling away. “I’m not that kind of dangerous.” The rest he leaves implied.
“If you say so.”
“You packed?”
“What? No,” I add when he peels back his sleeve to glance at his watch. Pointedly. “I’m not on bloody rollerblades!”