Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
I’m lost in my daydreams, frozen by my wonder and awe.
Then he appears, shimmering like a fucking god, snatching me from my happy place. The urge to go over and physically remove him from the area nearly gets the better of me. I breathe in deeply and reason with myself. She’s working. It’s just a job. I’m stronger than this. More controlled and calm.
I watch with narrowed eyes as the guy in the sparkly knickers rounds Camille and comes in behind her. Close. Too fucking close. He laughs, she laughs. The whole fucking studio is laughing.
Except me. There’s nothing funny about this. I’m hot again.
His hands; they appear from behind Camille, and I watch with bated breath for where they might be heading.
Please, no. Don’t you dare fucking touch her!
They fall neatly over her breasts.
Oh, fuck!
I fly up from the couch and catch my big foot on the leg of the coffee table, tripping and stumbling my way from the area. “Motherfucker!” I yell, catching my balance in the nick of time before I fall flat on my face. I swing around and find my performance hasn’t gone without notice. Everyone is looking at me—Camille with shocked eyes and Mr. Sparkly Knickers with his hands still on my breasts.
I look away before I stalk over and yank them away. “Excuse me,” I mutter, backing up, waving my phone in the air. “Call.” I turn…and collide with the coffee table again, my shin cracking on the edge. I hiss and spit through the stab of pain, then make a swift exit, just avoiding breaking out into a sprint to the door.
His hands on her fucking tits! I slam the door behind me and find the nearest flat surface to whack my forehead on. That was totally uncalled for, and I don’t mean my peculiar behavior. What the fuck? I sag into the wall, battling away the flashbacks of another man with his hands on Cami, trying to reason with myself. So much for keeping it professional.
“Handled with class, Jake,” I mutter. My phone starts ringing, and I laugh under my breath. “A minute too late, Lucinda,” I say, taking her call. “What do you have?”
“Nothing,” she answers flatly, to the point as always. “Honestly, I’m at a loss. I’ve just spoken to Logan. He’s probably going to pull you.”
“What?” That three-day warning is all I see. Today is day three. He’s pulling me on day three? He can’t be serious! “He’s hiding something, Luce,” I grate.
“We don’t know that for sure. If he’s going to pull you there’s nothing we can do.” She sighs, and I look at my phone incredulously. “I have another job for you, anyway. Not as handsome on the fees, but not to be sniffed at.”
I look at the blank wall in front of me, feeling my stomach drop like a rock. Pulling me off the job? Nothing we can do? Another shadow job? “Who?”
“Greek diplomat. Got himself in a spot of bother involving money laundering.”
Greek. Greece. Like another fucking country? My heart follows my stomach to the floor. No Camille.
“What with the state of the Greek economy, death threats seem reasonable.” Lucinda goes on while I continue to stare blankly at the wall. “I reckon a year in the sun will do you good.”
A year? I balk, feeling numb, my head spinning, as I turn toward the door that I’ve just fallen out of. My lungs squeeze, making my breathing come short, fast, and panicked.
“Jake?” Lucinda says. “You there?”
The sweet sound of Camille’s laugh seeps into my ears, intensifying my panic. Leaving her is out of the question. I refuse. “It’s a pass,” I breathe down the line, aware that I’m about to endure a string of expletives.
But they don’t come. “Can I ask why?” Lucinda asks.
“Nope.” I cut her off and hang up, unprepared and unwilling to explain myself. But the news I’ve just received has made me think seriously about what comes next.
Protecting Camille is essential. Her ex-boyfriend is a very real threat, and I still don’t know what the fuck is going on with her father. I can’t leave her vulnerable. I can’t let her wicked ex-boyfriend get his nasty claws back into her. The thought makes me sweat. Leaving her makes me sweat. This job hasn’t been about my need to bury myself in work to stop myself from being buried by my self-loathing. This job isn’t about duty or maintaining my reputation as the best.
This job has been different from day one, and the reason is currently standing naked on the other side of that door with another man’s palms cupping her breasts. And as for my reputation? Well, that just burst into pathetic flames as I staggered out of the studio like a newborn fawn. But none of it matters. Only Camille matters. Her and how she makes me feel.