Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
I just don’t fit into his posh world.
But then, I think of the way he looks at me when I do get overly excited, or when I’m silly, or uncouth. I even think I detected a trace of a smile.
A real one.
I’ve seen the way he treats the staff, his business partners we’ve passed in the halls. His rare smile is tight, professional, it doesn’t reach his eyes.
His trace of a smile for me is different... and I long to see what it looks like when he really smiles for me, when it lights up his whole handsome face.
A hint of hope warms my heart.
Maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance.
I jump from the bed, showering and dressing in comfy pjs. He told me he’d be late and to order up dinner for myself, so I do. Cheeseburger, French fries, and should I get that chocolate shake, nah, I order a side salad to keep things balanced.
Happy to have some time with my computer while I wait for the food to arrive, I take my laptop from my backpack, snuggling down in the covers, my head propped against the headboard.
I pull up the first few chapters I have, skimming over the words. “Hmm…not too bad.”
Thinking of the red negligee and the sex that followed, I find my fingers dancing over the keyboard, just like they used to.
I’m so lost in my book world, I startle when I hear the knock at the door. It takes me a moment to remember. “My dinner! Cheeseburger in Paradise.”
Hopping down from the bed, I rush to the door. Expecting a friendly face, I open it to reveal the pinched face of a brown-haired woman in a staff uniform. She’s tall and she looks down her nose at me as she hands me the tray. “Ms. Davis,” she says with a sniff.
“Thank you?” I take the tray from her and try to smile, but my gut feels sour.
She’s judging me. She knows I’m an escort, paid to be his company. She looks at me as if she knows just how disposable I really am to him.
I close the door without a word. Make my way to the table and set down the tray. I sit down, lifting the silver dome to reveal a mouthwatering burger.
And I can’t eat a bite of it.
How does she know my name? My stomach roils as I face the sinking realization that I’m not anonymous here. And though Darius’ driver and secretary have been more than kind, there are other people here who will not like me. Who will look down on me.
Because, let’s face it, I’m an escort.
My heart beats back my brain, telling me I’m wrong. That he cares for me. After only one night apart, he had Miranda tracking me down and bringing me back to him.
Right?
No longer able to write, I take a French fry from the plate, nibbling on the end of it. It’s hot and fresh and salty, and I think maybe I could eat just a little.
I take another French fry and pick up the remote for the television. I feel like something brainless, watching a show and not thinking. Maybe a comedy—a laugh would do me good.
The remote is extremely complicated and my degree in creative writing is no match for the plethora of buttons.
But Darius showed me how to work it before he left for the meeting, and I finally turn it on. It’s on the same station he’d been watching last. The local news.
I lift another fry, my mood elevated to the point I think I might be ready for the cheeseburger. Salad be damned—it’s not turning out to be that kind of night—I need comfort food. Feeling happy again, I swipe the fry through the little silver cup of ketchup.
I’m perfectly content save the nagging feeling that I should have ordered that chocolate milkshake.
I’m so busy with my food, I’m not really paying attention to the television.
Until I hear his name.
Fry positioned just in front of my opened jaw, I freeze.
The newscaster stares into the camera. She stands before Vegas, Baby, on the outside curb, the entrance to the hotel displayed behind her. Her hair-sprayed hair doesn’t even move with the breeze, staying perfectly coiffed as she rattles off her story. “Darius Morrow, voted as one of the most eligible bachelors in Vegas, may not be single after all. It turns out our favorite billionaire hotel and casino owner has been hiding a secret. Two, in fact. The first secret is that Mr. Morrow has become a customer of the Sugar Daddies Escort service, a local business that employs women to accompany men on dates. This escort service sets itself apart, catering to men who have a certain tendency to have their women call them… daddy. Yes, folks, you heard it here first—”