Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Still, my insides go shivery and hot thinking about the alpha male because he’s gorgeous. He’s insanely tall, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Shoulders as wide as a tank, and he looked amazing in a dark suit too. I saw how the fit of his jacket hugged his broad torso, and how the white color of his button down emphasized his deep tan. I loved how my hand disappeared in his giant one, safe in his grasp.
But still, Karl is an asshole, sexy European accent or not. He’s a possessive, manipulative, grade A douche who thinks he can tell me what to do! Hell no. No one tells me what to do, and especially not him.
I give a curt shake of my head, still fuming. After our little tete-a-tete last night, I stormed off and sulked in my room. I spent hours pacing my bedroom, dreaming up witty retorts and saucy quips before reminding myself that I have no plans to speak with Karl Andersen again. Ever. So all this energy was being wasted, and I threw myself into bed, forcing myself to lie still and close my eyes.
But this morning, I woke up, still furious with my mind racing. What the hell? That guy doesn’t control me! Fortunately, Karl doesn’t have my contact info, and I didn’t brief him on my whereabouts either. Sure, he was able to find me at the La Bianca fashion show, but the fashion show was publicized for weeks leading up to the big day, so it couldn’t have been hard to figure out my location. But what I do in my own time is private, and I make a mental note to evade that controlling asshole.
That’s why I’m at Justin’s mansion now. My boyfriend lives on a giant estate on the outskirts of Vegas. It’s a three-story house befitting a rap mogul, and he pays a fortune for security. He also pays a fortune to keep the lawns a lush emerald green because this is the desert, and it takes gallons of water to bring vegetation to life. But Justin has money to spend and a verdant green lawn is what he wants, even if he’s been picketed once or twice for it.
“The protestors don’t bother me,” he said in a lofty tone as people literally marched by his front gate, signs over their shoulders.
“Really?” I asked, eyebrows rising. “The clanging bells and chants don’t bother you?”
Justin shrugged.
“I don’t talk to poor people,” he said in a flat tone. “But I’ll get my security to drive them off. Maybe I’ll even call law enforcement. A night in jail would do some of those fuckers good,” he said with satisfaction.
I was taken aback because sometimes, my boyfriend is a total asshole. I’m not an ardent environmentalist, but I can see why people would be opposed to a verdant green lawn in the middle of a desert! Still, my opinion fell on deaf ears, and soon enough, the picket line was disbanded and peace descended once again.
But Justin is irrepressible. Not only does he spend a fortune on water, but he’s also landscaped his property to within an inch of its life by putting in a swimming pool, erecting a private dog park, and constructing an artificial pond at the far end of his estate. Yes, all this in the middle of the desert, and again, it cost a fortune. Most people would be horrified by the fantasyland he’s created, but Justin simply doesn’t care. He’s a billionaire mogul who can buy anything and everything he wants, no matter the cost to our environment. Frankly, I don’t know what’s worse – the yes men who kowtow to his every whim, or my own cowardice for not taking a stand.
But my boyfriend also loves dogs, which makes me feel a tiny bit better because dogs need space to roam outdoors. Plus, Justin has twelve canines under his care, so he’s practically running a kennel at this point. It’s also how he justifies the size of his massive estate.
“Dogs can develop personality problems if they don’t get out enough,” he explained in a serious tone while we were in the initial stages of dating. “They need to be walked, talked to, and entertained, just like a human child. They need space to run, and to express themselves through movement. You like dogs, don’t you, Ainsley?”
I nodded.
“Yes, of course. We had the cutest terrier when I was growing up—”
“Perfect,” Justin said, cutting me off. “Maybe you’d like to walk my dogs every now and then. They adore beautiful women,” he winked. “They’ll love you, Ainsley.”
Thus, I became a member of Justin’s rotating cast of daily dog-walkers. Of course, he uses professionals, but he says that the dogs have a special bond with me, and prefer my “light touch” to the other handlers’ jerky and abrupt movements. That’s going a little far because I’ve observed many of our dog-walkers at work, and they’re neither jerky nor abrupt. If anything, Janice, Brenda, and Tom are gentle souls whose ability to manage a dozen playful canines at once is awe-inspiring.