Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“Yes, actually. He already has an appointment scheduled for Wednesday.” Dad says. My heart is pounding in my throat, and I almost wish I didn’t ask. I had to have known there would be some crazy bullshit like this happening.
“And how sure are you that Harper is still a virgin?” I ask, forcing skepticism in my voice. I’m hoping he thinks I just don’t want this deal to fall through, not that I’m planting seeds of doubt in his head.
There’s a long pause between us, and I can almost picture the darkness falling on his face.
“Harper had better be a virgin. That’s for her own sake,” he says in a quiet voice. “And ours too, for that matter.”
We hang up the phone, and I sit with the weight of that warning lingering in my office. Malik is dangerous, and if he doesn’t get what he wants, there could be an all-out war ready to break out. All of that over Harper.
The only thing is, Malik has no idea how hard I’m willing to fight for her. He might have thought he was going to take her without any issue, but he’s got another thing coming. I’m not going to hand her over. She won’t be going to any doctor’s appointments and proving she’s a virgin.
Malik isn’t going to lay a finger on her, and if he does, I’m going to end his life. Nobody touches Harper.
Chapter 18
Harper
I’m in the middle of responding to emails about press inquiries and interviews with the likes of Forbes and The Washington Post when Dawson storms out of his office with his briefcase in hand. He’s angry, and I don’t know why. We’ve only been in the office for an hour, if that. He’s taken one phone call. Surely, it couldn’t have been bad enough to cause this reaction?
“Get your things; we’re leaving,” Dawson says as he stops by my desk and watches me as I throw the few things I have pulled out of my purse back in.
“Is everything okay?” I ask. I stop packing, and Dawson nudges my arm to get me to continue. I look away from him, feeling the heat from the anxiety rising to my cheeks. Clearly, something is not right.
“Everything’s fine. I have a last-minute business meeting in North Woods, and we have to go as soon as possible,” Dawson explains.
“North Woods? That’s pretty far away. It’s going to take us all day to drive there,” I say, just trying to make conversation to get some more information out of him about this.
“It’s a good thing we’re not driving,” Dawson says as he places his hand on my back to guide me toward the elevator when I’m all packed up.
Dawson calls the limo driver, and they pick us up out at the front of the building shortly after. The first stop we make is to the penthouse, and Dawson rushes me through packing as I grab the suitcase I came here with and throw random clothes inside.
“How long will we be gone?” I ask as Dawson watches me from the doorway. He just shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pockets while he waits for me to continue.
I don’t usually get to travel a lot. My mom, on the other hand, is the one who marries the rich men and goes on lavish honeymoons. I’ve seen her pack enough to know that I should be prepared for just about anything. So that’s what I do. I don’t know what the weather is going to be like, and I don’t have time to check, so I pack shorts and T-shirts, professional skirts and light blouses, as well as some sweaters and stockings. I shove a few different kinds of shoes inside the suitcase, and I have to sit on it to close it by the time I’m done.
When I’m done with my own suitcase, Dawson instructs me to pack one for him as well. While I’m doing that, he makes arrangements for travel on his phone, still watching me from the room as he sits on the edge of the bed. He calls Maggie and tells her that we’ll be gone, and she won’t need to cook or come in for work for a few days. That’ll give her plenty of time to spend with her grandkids, at least.
Dawson is much easier to pack for because he has less variety in his wardrobe. He really only has long pants and long button-up shirts with suit jackets and ties. I do my best to make sure I throw together some matching outfits with a few pairs of loafers and oxfords that pair well with the color schemes I’ve put together.
As soon as I’m done and both of us have suitcases packed in his room, he leads me out of the penthouse and back to the limo. I’m sweating by the time we get back because of how quickly he rushed me through everything. What makes it so much worse is that he’s not answering any of my questions.