Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
She blinks a few times. Shocked, but she doesn’t try to run. “And?”
“So, I know all about the wedding. I know exactly how to get there. All you gotta do is trust me.”
“Well then we’ve got a problem, because I don’t trust you.”
This girl.
She gives it good, but her nipples and her scent are telling me things her mouth won’t.
“Look, you’ve got no other options, right? You know I’m not a serial killer—”
“Do I? Jury’s still out on that one.”
I grunt, she’s not leaning into my plan as easily as I thought. I put my fingers to my temples. What was it their program taught me? Breathe. Count to ten. Something about more sugar, less stick.
“I’m not a serial killer,” I tell her, and see her stifle a giggle. “As you well know. Outside, right now, I have an RV. I also have a driver.”
“You have a what?” She sort of leans to my right, looking around me toward the glass wall at the front of the terminal, a childlike curiosity replacing her vitriol.
“An RV. It belonged to a client. Long story. Her husband’s pride and joy, he was a cheating, has been rock star, but I forced him to sign it over in the divorce last month. It was an unprotected asset in their pre-nup. She took great joy in handing the keys straight to me, right in front of him, and telling him to go fuck himself. I take many kinds of payment.”
“I bet you do.” Natalie can’t control herself. She starts to laugh, and it looks great on her. Her whole face lights up, the anger and annoyance falling away. “I bet you loved that, right?” she asks.
“I love winning, yeah. But winning against an egotistical asshole husband with a pregnant young wife who didn’t know any better than to sign a pre-nup? And making him pay for his mistakes?” I think about my mom after my dad left her, struggling to keep us all fed and clothed, and a little ball of anger wells up inside me still. But, I focus on the cherub doll in front of me, and the decades of bitterness seem to melt away. “There’s a special place in hell for men like that.”
She worries her bottom lip as she watches me. “Go on.”
“So, I might have had the RV delivered here. I might have hired a driver. I might have been planning to kidnap you. A little.”
The anger in her eyes softens. Just a fucking bit. And that’s a start.
“A little kidnapping? So you’re an honest serial killer? That makes me feel a whole lot better.”
I raise my fingers a centimeter apart. “A little kidnapping, no serial killing. And as RVs go, it’s pretty fucking sweet.”
She blinks a few times at me. “And this was all because of last night?”
I sniff and adjust my balls. “Yep. You and me, we’re matches and gasoline. And if I can spend eight hours with you, getting to know you and getting you where you need to go, be that Massachusetts or somewhere more metaphorical...” I give her a slow up and down stare, lingering on the valley between her legs for one beat, two, three. “Then that’s what I’m gonna do.”
Her cheeks are deep red and her hazel eyes are glistening. That’s happiness, and I fucking love the way that makes me feel. “You’re really such a cocky bastard. Divorce lawyers are the worst.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
She inhales slowly, flaring her nostrils. “If you can get me to my sister’s wedding before she notices I’m late, maybe—maybe—you’ll win yourself some points with me.”
Fuck yeah, this is my kind of winning. “Deal.”
“This is the kind of camping I could get used to.” She spins around, running her hands over the shining burlwood wall as I close and lock the partition that separates the driver from the back of the RV, which is more like a mobile condo.
When I hatched my plan, at first, I thought I’d get a limo, drive her wherever she was going. Then, I picked up the phone to charter a plane. But, both of those have flaws. A limo is too impersonal, too cramped. The flight would be too fast, not enough amenities for what I planned.
Then I remembered the RV. I got on the phone with a company that I know tricks out custom RVs for musicians and high-end clients. I told him go get it, do everything they could to trick it out in the time they had, then deliver it with a driver to the airport and there was no jacking around on price.
It was worth the hundred grand. It’s perfect, and more perfect because she thinks so as well.
The engine hums as the massive machine lurches forward.
“You hungry? Thirsty?” I move to the little kitchen and open the refrigerator, showing her that it’s stocked with everything from champagne to orange juice, soda, food, cheeses, fruit. When I told them to get it ready, I meant everything, and they didn’t disappoint.