Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” I say, shaking off the weird feeling in my gut as I bend down to pick up the envelope with one last glance down the hall. “I was just trying to remember if I was expecting anything.”
Riley closes the distance between us as I pull the door shut, triple checking that it’s locked before I look down at the envelope. There’s no writing on it, no indication of who it’s from or even who it’s to.
“A delivery?” Riley asks, tilting her head curiously.
I hum uncertainly, tipping the envelope side to side, feeling the contents slide around. “Apparently. Come on, let’s go sit, Princess. No need to let this interrupt us.”
Riley smiles as I place one hand on her hip, turning her around. She lets me steer her into the living room without any resistance, making happy little noises in her throat as I sit her down on the couch, taking a seat beside her.
“Want to watch something?” I ask, tossing the envelope onto the coffee table to be dealt with later. “Or pretend to?”
I grin as I tuck her under my arm, pulling her close, fingers tracing the curve of her hip teasingly. She laughs, swatting my hand away playfully as her pretty hazel eyes stray back to the envelope.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” she asks.
“It can wait. I’d rather spend my time with you.”
“What if it’s important?” she replies, giving me a pointed glance. “There’s no writing on it. Don’t you want to know who it’s from?”
It’s funny how quickly I’ve gotten comfortable with her in my space, hell, in my life. If anyone else, even Thomas, had asked to open my mail with me, I’d have told them in no uncertain terms to get fucked.
All it takes from Riley is a quick bat of her lashes and she has my cold heart melting.
“Nosy brat,” I say fondly as I reach for the envelope.
She laughs at the half-assed scolding, leaning forward along with me as I tear the envelope open. I don’t bother glancing inside before I tip it upside down and let the contents fall free over the coffee table.
But I regret it as soon as I process what I’m seeing.
Pictures.
Glossy, freshly printed pictures.
Of us. Of me. Of her.
My heart skips a beat at the soft, shocked gasp that falls from her lips. She reaches out with a shaking hand, but I snag her wrist back before she can touch any of them.
“No. Don’t put your fingerprints on them.”
She whips her head to the side to look up at me, her eyes wide with fear.
“What?” Her voice trembles as her eyes dart frantically between the photos and my face. “Nick, what’s going on? These… this is us.”
“I know,” I reply, dark and displeased.
The photos aren’t particularly scandalous on their own. The ones of Riley alone are mostly from work or her lunch breaks with Taylor. Even the ones of Riley and me together at work are fairly tame. We’ve been careful to keep our trysts at work away from even the hallway cameras, so all that’s been captured are a few shared smiles and one of me patting her on the shoulder.
The ones of me are more of a problem. They showcase Thomas and me together outside of The Echelon, and, more importantly, me in a mask at various events over the years. Those pictures should be impossible because I know how seriously Thomas takes the no-cameras policy inside the club.
They look like they were taken stealthily, shaky images from beneath tables and around corners. There’s no denying they are of me, though.
It’s the pictures of Riley and me from inside the club that make me sick to my stomach, though.
They’re from the night of the auction.
A night that should be an untainted, pure memory for both of us, now sullied by whoever the fuck decided to do this.
None of them are from the back rooms, thankfully, but the story they tell is obvious anyway. Shots of Riley on stage are followed by pictures of me walking through the crowd as I placed my bids, a photo of her sitting in my lap, and then one of us disappearing around the corner into the back. We’re both masked in all of them, but it’s not hard to recognize either of us if you know who you’re looking at.
The sight of them alone is enough to make my blood boil with rage, but the fact that they were ripped straight from the security footage leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
“Who did this?” Riley whispers, utterly horrified as she digs her nails into my arm. “What—was it your friend? Tommy? That’s security footage!”
I shake my head slowly, grinding my teeth in an attempt to quell my anger before I open my mouth.
“It wasn’t Tommy,” I say roughly. “Someone must have hacked his cameras. He’s not sloppy enough to be that obvious.”