Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I’m still in good shape at least. Even though I haven’t competed seriously since high school, I remember all my old routines, and I can still pull them off. Maybe I can’t tumble quite so high, but I’m flexible, and that counts for something.
“Riley! Are you almost done?” Dad knocks on my door, but he doesn’t come inside. It’s seven in the evening, and he expected me downstairs a half hour ago.
“Coming,” I call out, adjusting the plain white dress shirt I’m wearing tucked into a pair of black jeans. The shirt is too big—and it still smells like him all these weeks later—but I’m just barely pulling it off. “Just need a second.”
“Mr. Fong will be here any minute. I want you downstairs now.”
Dad stomps away, and I’m left looking at myself in the mirror. My hair’s in loose curls down past my shoulders, and there are bags under my eyes. No amount of makeup will make those go away. Turns out, stress is terrible for my skin.
I try to smile. It looks weird. I lift the collar of the shirt and breathe in deeply, letting the last remnants of his smell linger in the back of my head. Ever since I broke into his house, I’ve gotten myself off in this shirt at least a dozen times, and I keep wearing it out in public like it’s some kind of talisman.
But tonight, it doesn’t ease the sting.
In one month, I’m going to get married, and it feels like I’m going to do it in front of a firing squad.
I do, and then bam, they’ll blow off my head.
That might be preferable to being married, actually.
I hear the doorbell ring and Dad’s voice echo up the hall. With a sigh, I head down the main steps to find an attractive man standing with my father.
That’s a pleasant surprise. Mr. Fong is allegedly the head of an important Taiwanese cybersecurity firm that Dad’s planning on hiring in the near future for the family. I expected someone old and nerdy.
“Mr. Fong, this is my daughter, Riley,” Dad says, gesturing toward me.
“Please, call me Jeremy.” He smiles at me and shakes my hand. I’d guess he’s no older than thirty with dark, slicked-back hair, good cheekbones, and a charming smile. His suit is modern, slim, and fits his muscular frame very well. “It’s nice to meet you, Riley. I hope you don’t mind if your father and I talk boring computer business all night.”
“And I hope you don’t mind if I offer my unsolicited opinions on everything.”
He beams and pats my hand. “I’d like nothing more.”
Dad gives me a warning frown before ushering everyone into the dining room. I head into the kitchen to fetch everyone drinks, since my role is half hostess and half server for this evening. It’s annoying, but it beats hanging around in my room feeling miserable.
At least Jeremy’s charming and funny. He’s not really my type, but I can appreciate his confidence. He sits across from my father and discusses numbers and services with the ease of a man who typically gets what he wants. I chime in a few times, mostly out of boredom, and because Dad’s not going to correct me in front of a stranger.
About halfway through the meal, though, my phone vibrates. I frown down at the screen. It’s a text from an unknown, strange number.
I made a mistake a few weeks back.
That’s all it says. I frown, not sure what the heck to make of that, until I realize I’m being rude and excuse myself. Neither man really notices when I leave the room.
Who is this?
The number responds right away.
I deleted the footage of you in my bed. But don’t worry, my thief, my pillow still smells like your shampoo.
My heart starts beating rapidly. I have to pour myself a glass of wine, and my hands are shaking as I drink it. My god, the implications of that text rattle through my brain. I knew he was recording—it was a security system after all—but for whatever reason, it never occurred to me that he might keep the footage.
I have to take a minute to decide how I’m going to reply.
Riley: I’m glad you got rid of it. That’d be weird if you had porn of me on your computer.
Alexan: Is it porn if it was made for me?
Riley: More like made because of you. What would you do if you hadn’t gotten rid of it?
Alexan: Watch it over and over. Stroke my cock and think about your little mewling moans. You sound so fucking cute when you’re debasing yourself in my bed, little slut.
Holy fucking shit.
I stare at the text, mouth hanging open.
This isn’t what I expected tonight. I figured I was in for a really boring meal filled mostly with talk about contracts and payments.