Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
A waiter chooses that very moment to appear at our table with a menu, and there’s no way he didn’t hear what just came flying out of my mouth. He gapes at me in horror, his gaze flicking between mine and Reaper’s. “Uhhhhh . . .”
I laugh it off, acting as though it was a misunderstanding. “Oh my goodness. Your timing is impeccable. How funny. I’m a true crime author. Just trying to work out a scene.”
“Oh,” the guy says, letting out a heavy breath, the relief evident in his eyes. “Thank God. For a minute I thought—”
“What? That I’d killed someone?” I laugh. “Oh my god. How funny!”
The waiter takes a minute to calm himself before finally pulling out a notepad and pen. “Now that we’ve confirmed you’re not out here shooting people, do you know what you’d like to order?”
“Uhhhhh . . . can you give us a minute?” I say, dropping my gaze to the menu, having absolutely no idea what this place serves.
Reaper rolls his eyes and takes the menu out of my hands before passing it straight back to the waiter. “Why are you pretending as though you don’t know what you want? Every single night for the past ten days, you have eaten the same shit on repeat. Pasta, chicken, or burgers. You eat what you know and don’t venture outside of that.”
My jaw drops. I knew he was watching me, but I didn’t realize he was watching quite that closely. “Your point?” I question, feeling slightly embarrassed. I like food, and of course I venture outside of just that . . . sometimes. But the truth is, he’s hit a sore point. I eat the meals my mom used to make for me when I was a little girl. They’re my comfort foods, especially when I’m away for work.
Reaper lets out another sigh and turns his attention to the waiter. “Give her a chicken parmigiana with fries and a side salad,” he says, hitting the nail right on top of the head and making my stomach growl with hunger. How did he know that’s exactly what I was craving?
“Sorry. We don’t do pub food,” he says, turning his nose up at my order. “This is a luxury restaurant. Fine dining at its best. If you wish to eat like children, perhaps you could visit McDonald’s or Wendy’s.”
Reaper slowly turns his gaze, locking onto the waiter’s stare, and I see the very moment the waiter realizes just how spectacularly he fucked up. Reaper stands and the waiter begins to shake before a word has even been said. “The lady would like a chicken parmigiana,” he rumbles. “Are you telling me you are incapable of giving her what she wants?”
“I . . . I . . . No, sir,” he says, visibly swallowing as he begins to stammer over his words, clearly realizing what kind of man he’s currently dealing with. “Is there any . . . anything else I . . . I can get for you? Perhaps some wine? The dessert menu to browse. Not that . . . Not that you need the menu. You can have anything you’d like.”
“The chicken parmigiana will be fine,” Reaper says. “Steak and vegetables for me.”
The waiter scurries away, and Reaper casually takes his seat opposite me, his knees brushing against mine under the table. “What the fuck was that?” I demand.
“What was what?”
I shake my head. Is he serious right now? “You can’t just go around intimidating everyone who tells you no. That’s not how the world works.”
“I don’t mold myself to fit in with how the world works, Little Siren. The world molds to me,” he tells me. “Now, back to Eagle.”
I let out a heavy breath, feeling that I’ve already said what needed to be said. “Maybe I’m getting soft,” I admit. “Losing my edge.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t believe so,” he says. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing to crave friendships with those you can relate to or those who simply have an understanding of why you do what you do.”
I bite my lip, my emotions all over the place. I don’t know what’s going on, why I’m here, or what he wants with me, and to be honest, I’d prefer to be back at my villa on the phone with Mila while finishing off a bottle of tequila.
Tonight hasn’t been my night, and right now, I’m on the edge.
“What are you doing, Reaper? Why are we here, and why are you trying to give me all this grand life advice? I had a bad night. I’m off my game and letting my emotions get in the way. I just need the night, and I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
“Okay. You want to know why I’m here? You intrigue me.”
“I figured that out the second you pushed me up against the brick wall, and I could feel your cock grinding against my stomach.”