Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“I’ll see you in a few. I’m about to head that way.”
Click.
I set my cell on my desk, then cross my arms over my chest. “Mr. Bates. What can I do for you today?”
He’s dressed in one of his Armani suits ready to mow over anyone who gets in his way of ruling the world. Starting his day with me. “Fire her,” he demands, coming up to my desk.
I lean back in my seat, getting comfortable. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The fuck you do!” he seethes, pointing his finger at me. “You hired my daughter as a fucking Queen.”
“I can’t disclose that information.”
“Cut the shit, Titan.” He slaps my desk. “I saw her pictures. And in one of them, she was wearing fucking lingerie!”
My door opens, and Bones enters, shutting it behind him. “I was walking by and thought I’d check to see if you needed some assistance.”
I stand from my chair. “I’m good.”
Bones looks from me to Mr. Bates. They have history. Not a good one. He wants to stay but reluctantly exits.
“I will not allow her …”
“To what?” I arch a brow.
His jaw sharpens. “To be a fucking whore.”
I snort. Pot meet kettle. “You spent over two hundred grand last year on Queens,” I remind him.
He pulls his shoulders back and bows his chest.
I walk around my desk and come face to face with him. “I will not fire her. And the only reason you know she’s a Queen is because you’re a client.” I reach up and grab his suit jacket, yanking him to me. “If you want to continue to pay for your sex, then I suggest you keep your mouth shut and not tell me how to do my job.” I shove him back.
He trips over his own feet and falls into the chair. I make my way back around to my desk and sit down across from him.
He bows his head and runs his hand through his hair. His concern is getting the best of him. “Do you know what this will do to me if it gets out that my daughter sells her body?”
“It won’t.”
“You can’t guarantee that,” he growls.
“My airtight NDAs do.”
He stands. “And if someone talks?”
I stand as well. “Then I will take care of them just as I would if any of my clients leak any info about my Queens.” I run a no tolerance kind of business. “I protect my assets.”
He seems to be satisfied with my answer because he turns to the door but stops and faces me once again. “Jasmine is not to know that I was here.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EMILEE
“YOU GOT MARRIED?” I demand as my best friend sits down beside me in the booth.
She nods and gives me a big smile as her amber eyes light up. “Yeah.”
“What the fuck, Haven?” I ask, my jaw still dropped at the news.
She sighs. “It was …complicated.”
I frown. “Are you okay? Is Luca treating you right?” The guy is in the mafia. We’ve all known it since high school, but that never stopped her from loving him.
“Yeah, it started out a little rough, but everything is perfect now.” She pushes a piece of brown hair behind her ear. Her amber eyes soft and full of love as she speaks about her husband.
I look over to see a man by the name of Oliver Nite standing at the entrance of the restaurant. “Is he here with you?” He grew up a Bianchi. Luca’s father took him off the streets when he was just a kid and raised him as one of their own. He wears the gold ring on his right hand to prove it. The Bianchis adopted him and made him one of their own even if it was for their own selfish reasons.
“Yeah. He’s my bodyguard.”
“Why do you need a bodyguard?” I ask worried. “Are you in danger?” The Bianchis have a lot of enemies. I never thought my best friend could be in danger due to who she loves.
She waves me off. “Everything is fine. Luca is just paranoid.”
“Well … that’s good to know.” I’m glad he’s making sure she’s safe, even if she feels it’s overkill.
“I tried calling you. Several times,” Haven says. Narrowing her eyes on mine, she changes the subject.
My chest tightens. “I’m sorry.” I’ve been a shitty friend. And I hate that I wasn’t here for her.
“I left you messages.” She takes my hand. “Did you not get them?”
It’s also complicated, but instead, I say, “I lost my phone and had to get a new one.”
“Voicemails transfer over,” Jasmine states, cramming a piece of pancake into her mouth across the booth from us.
I narrow my eyes at her.
“It’s okay.” Haven wraps her arms around my shoulders and pulls me into her. “I’m just glad you’re here now.”
“Yeah.” Jasmine nods her head. “We know how you get.”