Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Avery: Though, I don’t mind them taking pictures of me. I mean, it does the bitches in Miami good to see what true fashion looks like.
I laugh. I can’t help it. Only Avery would say shit like this. But then my laughter fades as my brain connects the dots between the island and the information Cara gave me about Mario.
Me: My assistant got in touch with Mario’s family. There’s going to be a memorial service for him on Sunday. It’s only a half hour away from us. You want to go?
Avery: Is that even a question? Of course I do.
Me: Good. We can go together, then.
Avery: Is it just me or…whenever you think of Mario…do you feel guilty in some way?
Me: Because we got to come home and he didn’t?
Avery: Yes.
Me: Yeah, I definitely feel that. The psychologist who came in to check on me at the hospital said it was common. He called it survivor’s guilt.
Avery: Mine said the same thing. When I let myself really think about it, it just feels so fucking sad. I feel like I’m compartmentalizing it all most days.
Before I can even respond, another message comes through.
Avery: Now, hurry up and change the subject. I don’t have waterproof mascara on today.
To an outsider, to someone who didn’t go through what Avery and I did, they might think it’s cold or callous. But I get it.
And I also have a quick trigger when it comes to conversation.
Me: What are you wearing?
It’s clichéd as fuck, but I know it’ll do the trick. Plus, for as much as I could give a fuck about clothes, she loves them. And since I’m not some dusty, fucking crusty pussy, her interests are now my interests.
Avery: Pretty sure you already saw this when you were stalking my paparazzi photos but…Dior Ecru jeans. Gucci white tank. Yves Saint Laurent pumps. Very “old money” take on sophisticated but casual.
I shake my head, a grin pulling at my lips. That’s Avery, all right.
Me: That’s nice, honey. But if I’m not mistaken, you forgot to include your panties… What about those?
Avery: You saw my panties when I left your apartment for work this morning.
My grin widens, my mind flashing back to this morning, waking up with her in my bed, her warm body pressed against mine. We didn’t waste any time before tangling ourselves back up together—twice. I’m convinced there’s not a single better way to start my day.
Me: I think you should take your lunch now and come to my office and show me your panties again.
Avery: I don’t know. I’m very busy today, Henry.
Me: Yeah? Planning on doing actual work today over there at Banks & McKenzie?
Avery: Ha. No. I’m not busy at all. I can be there in an hour.
A laugh jumps from my lungs.
Me: An hour?
Avery: I can’t leave in the middle of my mani/pedi.
I have the strongest sensation I have no fucking clue what I’m getting myself into with this woman, and yet…I like it. I don’t think I’ll ever know what to expect, and for an adrenaline junkie like me, there’s nothing more exciting.
Me: See you in an hour.
Avery: An hour. But get your tongue ready, okay? My pussy’s feeling greedy.
Fuck me. Yep. I’m never going to know what to expect.
Avery
The elevator dings, and I step out onto Henry’s office floor. My freshly manicured nails gleam ballerina pink, the exact shade I chose because I thought it’d look best when I…well, when I wrap my hand around Henry’s cock later. I’m nothing if not thorough in my color coordination.
The space is as sleek and intimidating as I imagined. It’s all fucking windows, the sunlight pouring in from every angle, bouncing off the polished floors and high-tech. I’ve been to Adrenaline Junkie’s headquarters before but never to this floor. And now that I’m here, I can’t help but feel like I’ve walked into a king’s domain.
And there he is, the king himself, sitting behind his massive desk—in a sleek black suit jacket, perfectly-fitted black T-shirt, and black slacks—like he owns the world. Which, in a way, he does. It’s pretty fucking sexy, to be honest. He’s successful—at what he loves and because of his own drive and determination.
I’ve never showcased any of that same ambition, but if I’m going to live the lifestyle I’m accustomed to while maintaining that attitude, I’m going to need a man who’s the opposite.
A man who can take charge and take care of me—a man who’s already shown me in spades he’s more than capable of those things and, beyond that, can do it with a tenderness in his heart I’d never expect.
Henry looks up just as I’m walking toward his office, his lips curling into that wicked, knowing smile that makes my stomach flip.
Before I can reach him, his assistant intercepts me at her desk. She’s efficient and polished, her dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. “Hi, Ms. Avery. Can I help you?” she asks, her tone polite but firm.