Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
He patted my shoulder…
And then squeezed it so fucking hard, I thought it was entirely possible he would snap my trapezius.
His voice was low and deadly as he spoke. “You have a bad day and catch an attitude with me? I’ll fuck you up, but I can handle it.” Another white-hot squeeze. “Your friends, your family, any of the guys from the office? They too can handle it, or they dish it right back.” His grip tightened mercilessly. “But you ever work through your shit by cutting into a woman who’s already bleeding. Client or not. You’re gonna have to deal with me. Got it?”
I stared at him, careful to keep the pain out of my face.
Yeah. I’d fucked up.
I knew. He knew it.
Lofton sure as hell knew it.
And that was on me.
I wasn’t a total bastard. I had a mom and two sisters. Any man talked to them like I did when I got there, knowing everything they had been through, I’d have been the one putting them in the ground myself.
The stakes were high, people were dead, and I allowed my personal bullshit to cloud my judgment. It wouldn’t happen again.
It couldn’t.
“I got you,” I replied wholeheartedly.
He released his grip on my shoulder and took a step away, grinning as if he hadn’t just attempted to decapitate me. “Good. Now get the fuck out of my sight and do your job.”
I didn’t delay in marching out of the room.
5
LOFTON
“You have to get out of bed,” Brooke ordered across the phone. “It’s been three days, Lofton.”
“And?”
“And everyone’s worried about you. That Leo guy is ready to call in a team of doctors.”
I dropped my head back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling. A small trickle of morning sun peeked through the cracks in the blackout curtains. “I’ve already seen a doctor. I’m fine.”
“Well, fine is only slightly above off-the-rails. But sure, believe what you want. Though I can promise, physically, you are trash. I can smell you from here.”
“Wow, thanks for the pep talk.” I lifted my arm, then quickly sealed it back down against my body when I caught a whiff of myself. “I’m so glad you work for me.”
“Me too. It’s really coming in handy right now. Did you know Stephen Lattimore has a twenty-five-person hot tub?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes. I also know he has orgies in there, so keep Zoey out of it and see if Leo will call that doctor for you.”
She let out a low hum. “And how exactly do you know this? First-hand experience?”
“Dear God, no. Though I’m sure Sebastian has first, second, and third-hand experience and the STDs to prove it.”
“Well, that’s disgusting, but serves him right. Speaking of your piece of shit ex, he’s called me at least a dozen times to check on you.”
“Oh, yay,” I deadpanned. “Was he on my yacht when he called? You know, I always wonder how he gets herds of women to sail with him on a boat called Lofton at Last.”
“Uh, he doesn’t. He invites a bunch of young, dumb nineteen-year-old girls, who probably pose for selfies beside your name then pray they can blow him hard enough to get a yacht named after themselves one day.”
A laugh escaped my throat before I could stop it. “Better them than me. I still can’t believe Guardian put you up at Stephen’s while I got stashed away in Malibu Barbie’s Dream House.”
I’d never been to a safe house before, so when Leo told me that was where I was headed, my expectations were low. I assumed it would be cold and sterile. A place where windows came with bars and indoor plumbing was not a guarantee.
Boy, had I underestimated Guardian Protection Agency.
This place—or at least the little I’d seen of it—was seriously impressive. The bedroom was spacious, with all whitewashed walls and pale wood floors. One entire wall was alive with schools of hand-blown glass fish, frozen mid-swim in shades of turquoise, coral, and pink. The dresser and nightstands were large and weathered with a driftwood finish. Everything was tasteful and expensive without screaming pretentious.
However, there was one little problem.
“Oh, right, because you’re a weirdo who hates the beach,” Brooke said, no doubt rolling her eyes.
“You can call me a weirdo all you want, but what part of sand in every crack and crevice of your body, mixed with putrid saltwater, sounds like a good time to you?”
She sighed. “The part where I get to relax under a palm tree with a drink in my hand. All those exotic locations we’ve been to, and you always have to ruin it for me.”
“I’ve saved you from sun poisoning, sand fleas, and being peed on by toddlers in the surf. You’re welcome.”
“Wow, you really sounded like the Lofton Beck there.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Shut up.”