Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“How’s Colorado?” I ask, my voice hushed, because I’m not sure who knows about what he’s doing there.
“It’s good,” he says. “Not quite what I expected, but really good. In fact, I was going to talk to you about it a little more. I thought you might want to get involved in some way.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Byron is notoriously private about his business dealings, and he doesn’t partner with anyone who wants any kind of say. He’ll take investor money, but no one has decision-making power other than Byron.
“Let’s talk some more,” I say. “You seem to be spending more and more time there.”
He swallows his steak. “Yeah. It feels different being back there.” Byron always vowed he was New York or nowhere, but things have clearly changed for him. “Do you think you’ll always live in the brownstone?”
I pull in a breath and my gaze finds Sophia for the first time since we came back to the table. “I don’t think I can make definitive decisions about my future when it’s not here yet.”
Byron chuckles. “What a Worth thing to say. Although, I can’t see you being anywhere but the brownstone.”
A month ago, I might have agreed with him. But now?
Fisher comes over and crouches between our chairs. “What are we doing after this? Poker? Or should we take Leo to see some naked ladies?”
I groan and Byron rolls his eyes.
“Leo’s seen enough naked ladies to last a thousand lifetimes,” I say.
“Poker, then,” Fisher says, nonplussed.
“I can do poker,” Byron says. “Worth?”
“Maybe,” I reply.
“Maybe Worth wanted to see naked ladies,” Fisher says with a grin. “It’s about time you lost your virginity. Happy to tag along, if that’s what you want to do.”
“I can’t think of anything worse than going to a strip club. And anyway, it’s not like Bennett, Efa, Jules, or Sophia will want to go.”
“We don’t all have to do the same thing,” Fisher says.
“You’re not into Sophia?” I ask him.
He shrugs and glances over at her. “She seems like a nice girl…”
Byron laughs. “That’s a weird way to say ‘no, I’d rather go to a strip club.’”
“I don’t not like her. But honestly, as one of my best friend’s wifes’ best friends… I don’t want to go there.”
Emotion bursts in my chest. Relief at Fisher’s words. But also frustration that Sophia is so close to Jules. It would have been way easier if she’d been a stranger. Overriding both these feelings is a deep sense of understanding that I will go there, no matter the consequences. It’s like my fate is sealed.
There’s no keeping away from Sophia now. I want her. There’s no more avoiding her. No more pretending I don’t feel as strongly as I do.
I catch her eye across the table and she excuses herself.
Entrees are over and I have… somewhere to be.
I head out a few minutes later and spot her by the bar, standing in the exact same place I stood, speaking to the bartender. He’s laughing at something she’s saying and I flush with envy. I want all her attention. Fuck, when has a woman made me feel so primal? Sophia makes me feel more of every damn emotion that exists.
“Hey,” she says, as I approach.
“Hey,” I reply.
“I got you whisky.”
“You trying to get me drunk?” I ask.
Her mouth parts as if she’s about to speak, but she doesn’t. She shakes her head. “I’m trying to get me drunk.”
I pick up my glass and raise it. I’m less concerned about her seeing the heat of desire in my eyes. Now that I know Fisher isn’t going to be upset, things have shifted for me.
Her cheeks pink and blood rushes to my cock. Jesus, I want to see those cheeks pink some more, her skin covered in sweat, her breathing labored because she just came for the third time underneath me. My heart starts to pound and she dips out her tongue and bites down on her lip like she can read my thoughts.
She sips on her tequila this time, then slides it back to the bar.
She’s in no rush to go back to the table. I’m going to have a few more minutes with her.
“Do you keep secrets, Worth?” she asks.
“What kind of secrets?” I ask.
“The kind of secrets you don’t tell anyone.”
“Don’t we all?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. I agree with what you said that we all lie—no one tells the whole truth all the time. But secrets? Big secrets? Not everyone keeps those. Do you?”
Her question is pointed, but at the same time, I can tell it’s not aimed at me. “There are things people don’t know about me.”
“Like what?” she asks immediately.
I pull in a breath and search for an answer. “People I work with don’t know where I live.”
“You deliberately don’t tell them?”
I pick up her tequila and taste it, wanting to be closer to her, wanting my mouth where hers has been. “Yeah. My assistant knows. But generally, I don’t want people I don’t know well knowing where I live.”