Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
My other option is to go pound the shit out of every swinging dick at the game last night until someone gives me a morsel of information.
That’s plan A. Right after this fucking softball game.
“You? Charity? Kids?” Natalie chuckles with a smirk handing me a stack of white plastic plates as she grabs the syrup and silverware in a metal carrier.
“I know, right?”
“Must have been some hit you took.”
I shrug. “I’m fine. Doesn’t hurt.”
“Well, that’s good and the charity game sounds like fun.”
Fun.
Sure.
As much as a pair of sunburned balls I bet.
Chapter Two
Anna
It’s the perfect summer day. White fluffy clouds glide aimlessly across the blue sky. It’s not too hot, no chance of rain and I’m excited for the game. Not so much for me, but for my kids. My team.
Everything is going to plan until the ‘ringer’ my father was supposed to secure for me shows up and I want to call the whole thing off.
My father told me he would be sure to get me someone that would help our team win. I didn’t think he meant one of his goons from the poker table.
I watched the enormous blacked-out SUV pull up, then when the driver’s door opened, and the broody, dark-haired hunk stepped out, I knew immediately who he was.
Cyrus Saman.
I know because my father talks too much and tells me every monolithically boring detail about his poker games, along with descriptions of all the players. It’s fine, I take care of the profit and loss accounting for his games, so I guess he thinks I need to know more than I really do.
From what he’s told me, Cyrus is arrogant, and an asshole, at least when he’s playing cards. I’d never seen him before last night.
I was later than usual getting to the penthouse making sure the chips and money for the night were ready then securing them in the safe where only my father had access.
My father has told me many things about Mr. Saman, besides his skill at cards. He dabbles in many businesses. Some legit, some not. I know he has a thing for jewelry. Rare pieces, gems with a story behind them, antique items from history and of course, the bigger and more expensive the better.
Legit or not, that doesn’t bother me.
My father’s never been one to operate completely above the law himself, and my inherent talent for numbers had me keeping the family and business books from the age of fifteen, so I knew early on where our money came from.
I re-focus on the enormous, lumbering man walking near the dugout and wonder why he’s staring at me like I’m the cherry on top of his hot fudge sundae.
I will admit, I spent more time than usual in the shower with my handheld last night after he locked eyes with me as I left the penthouse. I felt a tap dance start down between my legs and it didn’t give up until I found relief as the warm water pulsed against my throbbing clit. Now he’s standing here, arms crossed, and I wonder where he got the shiner because it wasn’t there when I saw him last night.
Sweat breaks out on my forehead and my palms turn clammy as I make a ‘T’ with my hands and look around at my rag-tag team of volunteers and residents from the Welsh Children’s Center.
I grew up with so many advantages. My mother taught me to always be mindful of others and because of her, our holidays were often spent at soup kitchens and shelters, including the Welsh Children’s center for displaced youth, exchanging our time for someone else’s comfort.
Over the years, the Children’s Center took hold of my heart thanks to a little red-headed boy with glasses and a lisp, who one Christmas morning when I was fifteen, there to help pass out gifts, that I was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.
Now, I volunteer as head of their outreach department. Technically, I’m employed there, but I negotiated a salary of one dollar just to keep things above board for their non-profit paperwork. I also mentor and tutor several young people on math, life skills, career prep…anything and everything I can offer.
“I’ll be back. Just practice throwing,” I say to my team moving toward the sidelines, my stomach doing this wiggly, clutching thing like it did when I went to my first One Direction concert back when I was all glasses and braces and self-doubt.
I’ve never been attracted to the type of men in my father’s world. Bad boys. Dangerous men. That fascination has never been my thing. They are not my type. But, truth is, I have never found my type.
In fact, I promised myself at a very young age that if and when I decided to pursue any sort of romantic life, I would be choosing from the right side of the law.