Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 164263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 821(@200wpm)___ 657(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 821(@200wpm)___ 657(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
“Don’t end of story me,” she snaps. “I have a say in my life too, you know.”
I sip my wine and slosh it around in my mouth, annoyed by her tone.
“I am well aware of that, but you have guards for a very good reason.”
“Such as?”
“Such as.” How do I say that my gut is telling me something is off? I try to word it right so as not to scare her. “Dangerous people are everywhere, Alora.”
“You’re being overdramatic.” She rolls her eyes.
“What’s with the fucking attitude,” I snap. “Cut it out. I don’t like it.”
“You know what I don’t like?” she fires back. “I’m under guard and can’t even fucking sneeze without your men watching what I do, and yet you can go missing all afternoon and that’s okay.”
“I was at a work lunch,” I spit.
“Really?”
“Where else would I fucking be?”
“Who knows.” She widens her eyes at me in a silent dare.
She’s looking for a fight.
“I don’t know what fucking mood you’re in tonight but snap out of it.” I get up and walk to the stairs. “I’m going to have a quick sauna before dinner. Are you coming?”
“Nope.” She sips her wine. “I’m very comfortable.”
“Really?” I snap. “You’re looking kind of pissy to me.”
Her eyes flicker red.
“Maybe you should come and take some of that anger out on my dick?”
“With a pair of scissors?” she mutters dryly.
I chuckle as I make my way to the gym, strip off to my briefs and walk into the sauna.
I lean my head back against the back wall as the infrared lights glow red, it’s steamy and hot and I feel myself begin to relax.
ALORA
I sit on the couch scrolling through my phone. I am in a pissy mood tonight. Hormonal as fuck but damn it, he’s annoying.
A text bounces in, the name Thomas Stone lights up the screen.
Thomas Stone
You okay?
Huh? I reply.
Me
Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?
I see dots as he types back and then they stop. I wait again as they start to bounce and then they stop again. What is he writing, a fucking novel? Too impatient to wait, I dial his number.
“Hi.” He answers first ring.
“Why are you asking if I’m okay?” I snap.
“Umm.” He hesitates.
“What?”
“I know this is probably all bullshit or old footage or whatever, but I just wanted to check on you, that’s all.”
“What is?” I snap.
“You haven’t seen it?”
“Seen what?”
“I’m going to send you a link.”
“Fine.” I roll my eyes and sip my wine, honestly, all men are annoying tonight. He sends me a link to a story on TMZ, the celebrity gossip page. The heading reads:
Busted…
A leopard never changes its spots.
“Huh?” I read on.
Edward Prescott was caught red-handed last week entertaining one of his past love interests, Isadora Auclair, on his yacht
“The fuck?” I murmur.
I look through the images, it’s daytime and Edward is shirtless and cuddling Isadora on the below deck near the gym.
Marcel his guard is standing to the side as if watching on.
This is the woman who was trying to approach me in Monaco that day. I narrow my eyes as I zoom in on the photo. She’s wearing a tight dress and her hair and makeup are done. Her hand is resting on Edward’s bare chest and she has super-long red nails. There’s no denying that she’s hot as fuck.
Jealousy runs through me as I scroll through the pictures.
“It would be old footage for sure,” Thomas replies. “Where even are they?”
“On this yacht,” I fume. “He told me he never saw her through the day, that it was a nighttime-only thing.”
“So you know who this person is?” he asks.
“Yeah, it’s one of his old fuck buddies. Her name is Isadora.”
“It could be doctored, probably is actually.”
“Hmm.” I keep scrolling through the photos, there are ones of her getting onto the yacht as security stands around and then ones of her leaving. I scroll back to the top and then I see it. Angelo is one of the guards on the gangplank as she boards.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
“What?”
“The guard in the photo.”
“What about him?”
“He only started two weeks ago.”
“What?”
Fury begins to pump through me. “I’ve got to go.”
“It’s probably doctored, don’t believe it—” I hang up on him mid-sentence and storm to the sauna and tear open the door. Edward is lying on his back with his eyes closed.
“What the fuck is this?” I hold my phone out.
“What?” He lifts his head, half asleep.
“Why does this say that Isadora was on this yacht last week?”
“What?” He sits up suddenly. “Show me.” He snatches the phone off me and looks at the photos. “Calm down.” He stands and something about the way he says calm down confirms my worst fear.
“Was Isadora on this yacht last week?”
“It’s not how it—”
“Was she on this fucking yacht last week or not?” I scream as I lose all control.