Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
On the other, there were the (maybe even more abundant) thoughts of Milo.
I wish I could claim they were more of those very reasonable ones about working with a stranger, needing to figure out what his last name was, and being cautious about accepting any more gift-type items from him.
It was not that.
Nope.
It was mostly my mind flashing back to him grabbing me and pushing me up against a wall, then saying all that stuff about not having to pay women to sleep with him.
He wasn’t wrong.
Sure, many rich, powerful, and handsome men paid for escorts simply to make life easier. There were no messy feelings. It was all as personal as a business transaction.
But I got the feeling Milo was the kind of man who prided himself on his charm, on how he could get a woman into bed and both have a great time. Without any other enticements. Not even dinner. I bet that man could walk into a bar, approach a woman, and leave with her without even buying a round.
God, I swear that man could probably crook a finger at me and I’d come running. Or crawling on my hands and knees.
I needed to get a grip.
I notched the treadmill up, forcing my body from a leisurely jog to a full run. Even if I was pretty sure no amount of exercise would make my body forget about how much it ached for the man.
By the time I climbed off the machine, my legs were wobbling, close to complete failure, and I needed to plant my ass at the juice bar and rehydrate before my muscles would even think about walking me back to my place to shower.
The only thing motivating me was the little text I woke up to that very morning that demanded I get in the ride-share when it showed up at eleven. But was quick to add the location of our meeting so it didn’t sound like I was being kidnapped and taken to a second location to be murdered.
We were meeting at a spa.
Not just any spa.
A super luxury spa.
I was a little excited, even if we were just going to meet in the parking lot.
Because, well, dresses.
If nothing else.
The car pulled up outside the building, and I climbed out, looking around but not seeing Milo anywhere.
Nerves fluttered in my belly as I made my way to the door, feeling like I might step inside and be clocked as a fraud immediately.
It wasn’t always this way.
In another city, in another life, I would walk into spas like I belonged there. I wouldn’t give pricey dresses a second thought.
But that was back when I thought I had money. Lots of money. Retirement kind of money. Finding out it was all gone had ripped the rug out from under me.
It had been terrifying.
Suddenly, there was no money for luxuries. Hell, there were times when there was no money for food.
It had been a whole new way of life. One that was full of fear, of trying to prepare for any eventuality that might occur so I wasn’t without a place to live or food in my stomach.
Every purchase that I didn’t need for survival had to be hemmed and hawed. Then often regretted. I still felt guilty about a new pair of jeans I bought three months back, even though my last ones literally split down the whole butt.
So, yeah, it had been a while since I saw the inside of a luxurious place that I wasn’t working at.
The doors slid open.
I walked inside.
And the receptionist offered me a sweet smile.
“Miss Langston?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Grant is waiting for you,” she said.
Then I was led through the spa, past a heated pool, the sauna, and several closed doors where I imagined they did massages, facials, or whatever other treatments they offered.
In the middle of the hallway, the woman paused to knock before opening the door and ushering me into a lounge.
It was a windowless room with several different seating sections, a coffee bar, and some snacks laid out.
But it was only Milo inside.
“Thanks, Ash,” he told the woman, who took it as her cue to leave, turned, and closed the door.
“Hey,” I said, feeling awkward, shifting my feet.
“Hey. I figured this was a neutral location. If someone is watching you, they’d just assume you were pampering yourself.”
“Yeah, it’s a good idea. Frank would think this is ’typical woman stuff,’” I said. “His beliefs on gender roles work in my favor sometimes.”
“Want to grab a coffee? It’s surprisingly good here,” he said, gesturing toward his own cup.
Just to have something to do (and, hey, free coffee with all the syrups and stuff I’d never pay for any other time), I made a coffee before approaching him.
“Alright, before we get to the dresses, I have a few other things to give you.”