Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
“You told me you’d fold for him like a cheap lawn chair.” Dylan raised her palm to stop me. “Remember? At Alix’s wedding.”
“That doesn’t count. I was drunk,” I balked.
“Drunk admissions are always truthful.”
I picked up a paper napkin, scrunched it, and tossed it at Dylan. “So what if he’s hot? He’s still a meanie.” I felt myself smiling. It was the alcohol, surely. And the exhaustion that came with being sad all the time because of Mum.
“Have you fucked him yet?” Dylan wiggled her brows. “Does he come lava? Poison? Tar? Asking for a friend.”
“No,” I spluttered, actually giggling. Dylan had the uncanny ability to make light of the darkest moments. “But I moved into his bloody apartment as part of our deal. I’ve been doing my best to avoid him. I’ve actually bought individual Cheerios cups and bottled water to survive in my room.”
I couldn’t risk bumping into Tate in the kitchen. Not since I almost kissed him.
“Wait, isn’t he thrice divorced?” Dylan munched on the edge of a fry. “Don’t be so stressed. By all available data, this marriage is going to expire before a can of lentil soup.”
“Those cans are good for, like, a decade.” I scowled, looking between my two friends.
“Don’t worry. We’ll go to our husbands and pressure them to make Tate call it off,” Dylan promised.
Cal nodded, nibbling on her lower lip pensively. “Row and Rhyland are both in business with him. He wouldn’t want to jeopardize his work for anything. You know business always comes first for him. Let’s exhaust all our options before we freak out.”
I swallowed, nodding. Tate usually put his company’s needs first, but he was also unpredictable, a mad king reigning an empire of thorns. A pyromaniac with a decadent taste for destruction.
And he was dead set on ruining me.
“His ears must be ringing…” Cal jerked her chin toward my phone. The screen showed Tate’s name.
Stifling a groan, I picked it up. “What do you want?”
“An agreeable fiancée, for a start.”
“I’m afraid I’m fresh out. Anything else?”
“Come downstairs. We have a ring fitting to attend to.”
How did he know I was with my friends? Did he follow me? The thought made invisible spiders crawl along my skin.
“Let me guess, Citoyenne Jewelry?” I drawled.
“Good, you’re watching the game. Who is winning?”
“Your ego.”
“I’m not surprised. It’s gigantic. Size matters in football. Hurry up.”
“What’s the magic word?” I didn’t have an appetite anyway.
Besides, I was eager for Cal and Dylan to go back to their partners to try to defuse the situation.
“Immediately?” he tried.
I rolled my eyes. “No.”
A half-human, half-feral grumble came from the other end of the line.
“So?” I coaxed sweetly. “Magic word?”
“Abracadabra.”
“Try again.”
“Alakazam?”
“No.”
“Hocus-pocus? Open sesame? Daimon? Voilà? Sim sala bim? Fidelio? It largely depends on the period and culture. A little guidance wouldn’t hurt.”
Oh God. He didn’t… Surely, he couldn’t…
“You don’t know what the magic word is, Tate, do you?” I gasped.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I know everything. What language is it in?” he huffed.
“English,” I enunciated slowly. “It’s please. The magic word is please. Have you never used it before?”
Silence. And then, “I’m sure I have, once or twice.”
“Well, happy to pop your cherry. Ask me nicely.”
This was going to be his entire life from now on. I was going to set obstacles and be obnoxiously difficult until I wrung out his will to live.
“Please,” he enunciated sardonically. “Come downstairs.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I have to get my soul sucked by the ghoul I’m marrying.” I stood up, bidding my friends goodbye.
“Hey, as long as it’s the only thing that’s going to be sucked.” Dylan saluted her cocktail in the air. “Don’t worry, girlie. We’re on top of it.”
I took the elevator down.
Oh yes. I was going to fulfill my part of the deal, but I wasn’t going to be nice about it. I had taken note of all the things Tate appreciated about me and made sure to hide them.
Which was how I knew he’d have a heart attack when he saw me.
I poured myself out to the frosty street and immediately spotted Tate’s Ferrari Purosangue. It was the same shade of gray as his eyes.
He’d parked in the middle of the street, blocking traffic. I hurried over to the back seat and popped the door open, realizing to my shock that he was in the driver’s seat, not Iven.
“You have a driver’s license?” I blurted out. In all my years working for Tate, I had yet to see him drive a car himself.
His eyes tapered. “Get inside.”
The honking behind him intensified. I ducked my head, about to slide into the back seat.
“Next to me. I’m not your chauffeur.”
I did as I was told, biting my tongue and waiting for the next opening to piss him off.
The opportunity presented itself not even ten seconds after the car slid forward and into busy Manhattan traffic.