Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 90315 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90315 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
He’s also a selfish, narcissistic asshole, and I only learned that after I dated him for a year.
“Hello, Howey.”
“Goodbye, Howey,” Chelsea says and flips the man the bird, and I have to press my lips together so I don’t laugh.
Chels always hated this guy.
“Still have your yappy friend by your side, I see.” Howey’s voice is like honey.
If he wasn’t such a monumental asshole, he really would be a catch.
Seeing him makes me feel nothing. I never thought I was in love with him, but I enjoyed dating him. Especially in the beginning, when he was attentive and kind. Sexy. He really was good in bed. He didn’t cause trouble with my detail, and he was respectful to my mother.
And then, it all went to shit so fast, my head spun. So no, I don’t feel anything at all when I look at him. No remorse. No longing or sadness.
“Are you enjoying the exhibit?” I ask him, ignoring the dig at Chelsea.
“It’s interesting.” He glances around the room, and then his brown eyes fall on me once more, flicking down to my cleavage. “It just got better.”
“Yeah, well, I think we were getting ready to head out. I need to get back to DC tonight.”
That’s a bald-faced lie. We’re staying in the city for the weekend to shop and eat at our favorite restaurants.
But Howey isn’t invited to tag along.
“Come out on the veranda with me,” Howey says, and I shake my head.
“I need the restroom.” I turn to Chelsea, who’s suddenly chatting with a woman I don’t recognize. “I’ll be back.”
“Okay, I’ll grab you some cake,” she says with a smile, and I turn to walk away.
“Lena,” Howey says, stopping me. His eyes have softened, and he reaches out to tuck my hair behind my ear. “I’d really just like to talk to you.”
I sigh and back out of his reach, which makes his eyes narrow.
“You lost that right the day you smacked me across the face. Goodbye, Howey.”
I walk across the room, toward the hallway where I noticed the sign for the public restroom. My detail is right behind me, and I glance back at them, directing my comment to Richie.
“I don’t want him near me again.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
My detail makes me wait to enter the restroom until it’s empty, and then they stand outside the door, making sure no one can get in with me.
It’s over the top and ridiculous. It’s always driven me nuts. I wonder if they can hear me pee out there. When I was a teenager, I rebelled against the security. Chelsea would talk me into ditching them all the time, which we’d do, and then go get ice cream, or go shopping. We never did anything too crazy—we just loved the adrenaline rush of losing the security guys.
And then I always got into a heap of trouble afterward.
When the incident happened five years ago, I put my foot down and told Chelsea we’d never do it again. Because people got hurt that day, all because of me.
And it still haunts my dreams.
Once I’ve washed my hands, I open the door and step out of the restroom, but then frown when I don’t see Richie. The new guy glances my way, and I look down the hallway.
“Where’s Richie?”
“He had to handle something.”
No, that’s wrong.
My guys never leave my side. Not for anything.
The hair on the nape of my neck stands on end as I hold this guy’s stare.
“What did he have to handle?”
“Don’t worry about it. He’ll be right back. Your friend’s waiting for you in the car out back.”
He points with his thumb toward the opposite end of the hallway, where there’s an exit sign.
I can hear Gideon’s voice in my head. He was with me from the minute my mom took office until the night of the incident.
“Trust your gut. If something feels off, it likely is.”
My heart beats faster, but I manage to keep my face calm.
“Chelsea wasn’t ready to go yet.”
“She is now. She’s out back with Richie.”
I tilt my head to the side. “You said he was taking care of something.”
“He’s taking care of Chelsea.” His jaw tightens, that muscle twitching with his frustration. “Come on, we need to go.”
Slowly shaking my head, I start to move to the other end of the hallway where the party is still happening, but his hand catches my upper arm, and he starts to drag me away.
I have an emergency button on my watch, which I immediately press, and within seconds, more Secret Service rush in.
Cold metal is pressed against my neck.
“I’m taking her,” this asshole says. His voice shakes a bit, and my eyes find Richie’s. Where was he?
Without hesitation, Richie raises his gun and fires, and my would-be kidnapper falls to the ground, dead.
Oh, God.
I stare down in horror at the blood as it spreads over the floor, and then I’m flanked by three men and taken out to the SUV. They’re talking into phones and communicators, but the blood is rushing so loudly in my head, I can’t hear a word they’re saying.