Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Too bad she’s not like any of her sibs.”
“Good fashion sense, but kinda blah, if you know what I mean.”
“She’s got to be the most boring socialite we’ve ever covered.”
And I was obviously neither.
“Those dimples are nice, though.”
I almost, almost rolled my eyes. Dimples. It always came down to the dimples, like those two dots in my cheeks saved me from being monstrous.
The men nonchalantly taking my photos continued on, loudly dissecting my looks like I was deaf. Or maybe they just didn’t know they were supposed to care about how their words could hurt people.
It was probably the latter, but I was long past the point of even caring. When one grew up with parents as dysfunctional as mine, another person’s penchant to inflict pain rarely surprised me.
My phone started to ring as soon as Anthony, my regular chauffeur in this side of the world, opened the door for me. In the act of stepping inside the limousine, I made the mistake of checking who the caller was—-
Marcus.
My heart didn’t just skip a beat as his photo popped up on the screen. It skipped an entire meter, and I ended up miscalculating the distance between my foot and the floor of the limousine. My step landed on thin air, and I let out a cry as I lost my balance. I tumbled face down, half of my body inside the car, the other half still out, and my butt up for the world to gawk at.
Not a second had passed when excited noise erupted behind me, reporters clamoring for the best shot. For once in my life, I’d probably make it to TMZ.
Guess I’m not so boring now.
Hurriedly righting myself, I got the rest of my body inside the limousine, and as soon as I pulled the door shut, Anthony had the limo moving. The older man shot me a mournful look through the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry, miss.”
“It’s alright. I’ll live.” It was no one’s fault my orderly life tended to, well, not be orderly whenever Marcus Ravelli was concerned. Reaching for my phone, I typed my reply to his text.
Anneke: I’ll be there in thirty.
Marcus: I look forward to discussing the merger with you.
Merger, huh?
Riiiiiiiiight.
I supposed that was another way of describing things.
Merger it was, I thought.
And I couldn’t wait for some, err, merging to take place.
One
Ten years ago
Summer for my family typically meant weeks spent in the country, an arrangement that the lord of the house – aka Willem, the Good-Hearted Tyrant – insisted on. We could party if we wanted during the weekends, but we still had to make it back to the country. No sleeping over in anyone else’s place or even in our house in Amsterdam. It was a rule I had no problems following since I loved our estate in Bruin Hemel, but my other siblings were a different matter.
Speak of the devil, I thought.
The double doors to the family room had swung open and my brother Jaak, older than me by a year, came strolling in, looking his usual gorgeous self but a little hung over.
“Make yourself at home.”
I blinked. “Huh?” This was our home. Was he drunk?
Jaak laughed at my bewildered expression. “I wasn’t talking to you, idiot.” He nodded towards the still-open doors as he threw himself beside me on the couch, saying, “I was talking to him.”
I followed his gaze, just in time to see a stranger enter the family room.
Oh.
I had seen my fair share of beautiful men in my life. Heck, I had lived with three of the world’s most beautiful men my entire life, but even so there was just something about the stranger that called out to me, making him different, and his looks more...potent. I had never used that word to describe a man before, but for him it seemed fitting, with the way every little thing about him had a tremendous impact on my senses.
He was tall and powerfully built, the outline of his biceps made more prominent with how the sleeves of his white buttoned-up shirt were rolled up to his elbows. Faded jeans completed his casual look, but the way he carried himself made his clothes seem more elegant than a ten-thousand-dollar suit.
His raven black hair wasn’t so different from Jaak’s, but unlike my brother’s blue eyes – an all-famous de Konigh trademark – the other man’s eyes were exceptionally dark, deep-set, and exotic. His skin was a deep shade of bronze, the kind only Mediterranean men seemed naturally blessed with, and the way he moved was so very...Italian.
I couldn’t quite explain it, but I was sure anyone who watched the way this man moved would know what I mean. There was a certain kind of sensuality about him - almost forbidden in its explicitness – that literally made me hot all over.