Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“You seem almost done with that drink. Would you like to head to my place after this for a nightcap?”
“No,” I tell him straight up. I don’t intend to lead him on. I can see this will go nowhere. And I want this over… like an hour ago.
“No? So what? You think you’ll get a free meal and not have to put out?” he asks. “That’s cocky of you.”
I’m almost shocked. But not really. He appears the type. Asshole!
“I’ll pay for my half,” I offer. I’ve been around my share of men, but what sits before me isn’t that… that thing is a boy. A man-child at best. I finally understand why my friends at home complained about their dating life. Suddenly, I don’t feel like I’m missing out on much.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” the ass announces, then stands and weaves his way around the other tables. I sit there with my glass of wine, look at his empty plate, and back to my pasta, which I hardly touched. A meal is only as good as the company you share it with.
“Miss, the bill.” I glance up at the waiter.
“I’m waiting for my date to return,” I tell him.
“Miss, he left and told me to send the bill over.”
Anger bubbles in my blood and I do everything to remain composed, especially in public. That fucking asshole.
I politely smile, take the bill, and slide my credit card into the folder before handing it back to the waiter.
When he comes back, he offers me an apologetic grimace. “I just want to let you know he’s done this to two other ladies before you. Sorry again, miss.”
Two other ladies.
What a fuckhead.
I bet it’s because they didn’t want to sleep with him, either. I collect my things and stand. When I slide my chair in, I glance to the back of the room and feel eyes on me. It’s then I see him—not my runaway date, but Dawson. He’s sitting with three women and one man. Of course, he is. Because why wouldn’t Dawson be here? I raise my chin, turn around, and walk out.
I don’t care if that’s humiliating.
He can also fuck himself.
Men suck.
CHAPTER 17
Dawson
“Who was that?” Lesley asks.
“No one,” I reply, watching Honey leave the restaurant.
“That is the woman from the store, is it not?” Daphne inquires.
Lesley smirks as she puts two and two together.
“She’s beautiful,” Lesley adds. “Unlike you to fuck your staff. I hope she’s signed a contract.”
I don’t bother telling her that she hasn’t. And she doesn’t push me on it either. Besides, there is nothing between Honey and me. Couldn’t be.
“Find out about that man she had dinner with,” I tell Henry.
We’re here to discuss the problem of the stranger using my name and company, and Henry does a lot of digging for me. Like Crue stated, it’s been hard to find his identity. Even the street cameras didn’t get a clear vision of him, and he’d used public transport, so there was no license plate to track either.
But Henry is good at what he does—he’s young and eager to make himself useful. He nods and opens his phone, and I know he’s hacking into the restaurant’s reservation system.
“Why do you care who she had dinner with?” Lesley asks, smirking.
“Even my contract isn’t exclusive to just Dawson,” Daphne says under her breath to Lesley. They both laugh.
“Lesley”—I turn, facing her—“you may get a lot of things from me, and I find you very useful, but I can always replace you.”
“You can’t, and you know it,” she says, reaching for her drink and offering a cheers to Daphne.
I could, but damn, it would be hard to find someone as good as she is.
“Found him,” Henry announces and shows me a picture of a man who looks exactly like the man Honey was sitting with. I’d been watching her since she came in, and she was all smiles at first, but it didn’t take long for that to change. It took all my restraint not to interfere. Honey means nothing to me, but when he left her with the bill? That is not how any woman should be treated, and he’s about to learn a painful lesson.
“Come on, Henry, let’s go for a drive.”
“Dawson,” Lesley warns. I ignore her as I toss my credit card onto the table.
“Ladies, enjoy your evening. I heard the fishbowl margarita is a particular favorite here.”
Daphne squeals and hangs off Lesley, and I know she’s doing it purposefully to try and pull Lesley’s attention away from me. I feel Lesley’s gaze on my back as Henry and I leave the restaurant.
The man was easy to track down because he keeps his social media profile public and tags himself wherever he goes.
Like a real dick.
He didn’t go far, just down the road to a bar. I find him straight away, talking to a woman who I can tell by her body language wants him far away from her. But he seems to be stupid enough that he can’t read the signs.