Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“Nick.” Standing from my chair is an effort. My legs shake, adrenaline pumping as my body braces for a showdown.
“Jude, this is Nick Phillips,” I say quietly, once again at a loss. “Nick, this is Jude Harrison.” So I introduce them? Oh God, this is fucking awful.
“Jude Harrison?” Nick says, not with hatred as I’d expect, but in question. I tilt my head. And then Nick mildly inhales, taking a step back.
“Yes, Jude Harrison.” Jude rises, clearly wanting a presence and, God, does he have one, the passive-aggressive possessiveness rising with him. Reaching for his arm, I touch him, trying to interrupt the potential imminent eruption. “That’s me,” Jude grates, his eyes suddenly wild. “Nick Phillips?”
I want to crawl under the table and hide, but as I look between the men, something feels . . . off. Jude’s as stiff as a board, his eyes the darkest I’ve ever seen them. It’s standard Jude in the face of rivalry, but it feels like there’s more. I glance at Nick again. There’s no hurt in his expression. It’s more shock, which is confusing because he found out I was seeing someone before, and this was not his reaction. Except then, he didn’t know who I was seeing. Now, he does. And Jude is an imposing man.
Jude finds it in himself to back up and lose the crazy radiating from every fibre of his being, flicking me a wary look. My cautious gaze returns to Nick. He does the same, peeking out the corner of his eye at me before quickly looking away.
“Do you know each other?” I ask, the question falling past my lips impulsively.
“No.”
“No.”
I retreat and laugh under my breath. “Are you sure?” There was definitely a sense of realisation in Nick when I introduced Jude.
“We’re leaving.” Jude takes my elbow.
“We’ve not finished eating.”
“I’m not hungry.”
So he’s lost his appetite now? Jude swipes up my bag and tries to walk me out, but Nick moves, blocking us.
“Get out of my way,” Jude grates, his expression deadly.
“Amelia.” Nick comes towards me, prompting Jude to step in his way, and all I can do is stand like a useless idiot, my mind twisting, trying to figure out what the hell is going on here. “He’s not—”
“Move,” Jude snaps, shoving Nick aside and pulling me along behind him.
I hiss, feeling his squeeze of my hand, at the mercy of his strength and determination. “Jude, you’re hurting me.”
He immediately eases his hold but not his pace, and when we make it outside, I’m guided to his Ferrari, my cautious attention on his profile. He looks like he could burst. “Jude, will you tell me what the hell just happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
He opens the door, puts me in the seat, slams it, and I release a disbelieving puff of air. I don’t know why I let him just remove me from the pub. Maybe because I needed to escape the god-awful tension. Except I’ve not escaped. In fact, I feel like I’ve stepped out of the pan and into the fire. Or maybe I hoped leaving would get me answers faster. Do they know each other?
Jude gets in and starts the car, pulling away fast. I frown at my lap when Yeah But No’s “Run Run Run” plays, frowning harder when Jude turns the volume up, making it impossible to talk and be heard. His driving is a little manic, his persona fraught. I constantly glance across to him, getting more worried each time I note his ticking jaw and eyes like lasers on the road. Does he think there’s nothing to talk about?
Reaching for the controls, I turn the music down. “What did he mean?”
“What?” he snaps, his knuckles around the wheel turning white.
“What Nick didn’t get to finish because you dragged me away. What did he mean?”
“I didn’t hear what he said. Where’s your phone?”
“What?”
“Your phone, Amelia. Where is it?”
“In my bag.”
“Give it to me.”
“Why?”
He slams the ball of his palm into the wheel. “Just give me your damn phone!”
“Not until you tell me why, Jude!”
He huffs and reaches across for my bag, and I watch in astonishment as he helps himself, rummaging through and pulling it out. “What’s your code?”
“I’m not telling you my fucking code, Jude.” I try to swipe it back, but he’s too fast for me. “Tell me what the hell you’re doing. What are you trying to prove?”
“There are nearly ten million people in London, Amelia. Thousands of pubs. I find it really fucking hard to believe your ex would just happen to turn up in the pub we’re having dinner in.” He turns dark eyes my way as I push back in my seat, not liking what he’s suggesting. “What’s your code?”
“My birthday,” I say quietly.
Jude opens my phone and splits his attention between the road and his working thumbs, and when I see his jaw tighten further, I know what’s coming. “He’s fucking tracking you.”