Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“We’ve been here long enough, and the mood has peaked. It won’t get any better. Trust me.”
She eyes me uncertainly, leaning in like she can smell the champagne on my breath. “Are you okay? You smell a little tipsy.”
“We’ll have Luis drive.”
“He’s here? But you drove us.”
“You think he’s earned a night off?”
“You’re right. How stupid. Where would you be without him bailing you out?” She laughs and slides her hand through my arm, but even though we’re back to how we were before, it doesn’t feel quite the same.
Something feels flat.
Like she’s pretending and not just because we’re still in public.
Goddamn, I hate this feelings shit.
“If I’m being honest, I’ve had enough,” I say as we reenter the ballroom. “I’ve donated six figures, spoken to everyone who matters, let the cameras flash, and now, I want you to myself.”
“Queenie might have something to say about that.” She smiles, and this time it doesn’t look so forced.
“We’ll swing by and grab her on the way home, if you don’t mind some dog hair on that pretty dress.”
“Nope.” She glances up at me, then away. Too quick for me to read her expression. “The sooner, the better. I can’t wait to pry off these shoes.”
“I can’t wait to see them on the floor.”
She smiles, but just like before, the expression shutters. Wiped clean.
Only for a second, but it’s enough to make me ready to leave this circus of posers behind. I grab her hand and practically tow her to the door, firing off a quick text to Luis on the way.
We’re not even the first people leaving, judging by how the crowd has thinned out. I make sure to give Lena a wolfish look as we make our exit.
That part’s too easy.
What’s hard is up ahead—the evening I want with her that I’m afraid I don’t deserve.
The one where I watch as she takes off that almost-invisible makeup. The moment where I unzip her dress, throw her on the bed, and fuck her into a sex hangover where we have just enough energy left for takeout.
It’s not lust stabbing through me but this weird longing.
Luis lingers by the door, his eyes alert. He nods when he sees me.
“Car’s pulled up right outside,” he says, holding my eyes. I slide free of Lena, leaning closer so I can hear him. “Not to worry you, but I saw Miss Loomer talking with Harry Jay’s rep while you were with your father.”
“What the fuck?” I draw back.
“Probably nothing. You know she’s a social butterfly. Still, on the off chance they’ve made any contacts—something to keep an eye on.”
No denying that. It confirms the ominous feeling that’s been stalking me all evening.
This doesn’t bode well.
“Just stay on high alert. I don’t want any surprises,” I growl.
“On it.” He sighs. “This is the kind of shit that can come back to bite you in the ass, boss man.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” I glance at Lena, who’s smiling at the hotel valet as they help her into the back seat of my SUV.
“He knows you’re onto him,” Luis says quietly.
“I’m sure he figured that out when I chucked him off Lena’s porch.”
“Be careful.” Luis’s dark eyes flare. “Your parents will never shut up if there’s a police report.”
“Then we’d better neutralize this asshole faster.” I pat his arm. “Take us home.”
As I slide in next to Lena, I feel a persistent set of eyes that make me whip my face toward the window.
Nancy, scowling, standing alone on the curb.
With her purse held too high against her chest, she locks eyes with me and extends her middle finger, flicking at the strap pointedly.
She’s like a dog with a bone. An obnoxious little ankle biter.
With Lena next to me and too much trouble in the air, I can’t even react to her jealous teeth mangling my life.
XIX
Cornered Dogs
(Lena)
There’s an unpleasant quiver in my belly as we arrive back at Brady’s penthouse.
I don’t know when we quietly agreed we’d spend every night together, but that’s become the norm shockingly fast.
Even more shocking, I never thought to question it until now.
Until he hid his phone and sent everything spiraling.
Worst of all, I feel so stupid.
We never agreed to anything.
Not one word about exclusivity.
I have no greedy claim to his body, his time, his secrets. I know that—I know, and it still doesn’t help.
Just like we both know this is a sham. A glorified production where we stumble into bed together at the end of a day.
Friends with benefits with mammoth responsibilities.
. . . Are we even friends?
Ugh.
The way my stomach flips intensifies as the private elevator opens, and we walk into his penthouse with a furry black cannonball who flies back at us the second she’s off the leash.
Queenie prances around like an overexcited deer, getting dog hair and drool all over Brady’s suit pants and then my dress.