Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Dousing myself in cold water helps, but only momentarily. When nothing I do shakes the thought of Damien from my mind, I find myself digging yesterday’s outfit from the laundry bin and fishing the card from my pocket.
Damien Bright
CEO Bright Enterprises
It’s followed by his number and email address, and I spend longer than I want to admit re-reading the shiny gold foil. His last name seems familiar all of a sudden, and my curiosity gets the better of me. Googling him is better than texting him and begging him to please do what you said and take care of me, though, so I count it as a win.
My mouth drops open as I read the search results. Damien isn’t just insanely attractive, caring, and protective. He’s also a literal billionaire. There’s no way in hell I can bring myself to text him now. He’s so out of my league it isn’t even funny.
But for all my logic, I can’t get him out of my head.
I’m saved from my spiral with the ping of a text. I click on the notification, smiling when I see the message is from my best friend, Carly.
Carly: Neon’s Bar, tonight. Don’t say no!
I laugh to myself, shaking my head as though she can see me as I type out a reply.
Me: I don’t know, Carly, I was just gonna stay in…
Almost immediately, she replies.
Carly: Wasn’t a question, babe. You’re coming. Be ready at 9!
I chew my lip, but I already know it’s pointless arguing. I’ve been friends with Carly long enough to have learned she doesn’t take no for an answer, and I hate disappointing people. It’ll make her happy if I go with her, and honestly, that alone convinces me. Besides, going out with my best friend is bound to be a better way to spend my night than sitting here agonizing over a hot billionaire who gave me his number, but I definitely don’t have a chance with him and can’t bring myself to text.
Yeah, definitely a better use of time.
However, I doubt even neon lights, alcohol, and club music will get the image of Damien out of my head.
3
DAMIEN
If I’m being honest with myself, the last thing I want to do tonight is go meet my investor at one of the fancy but loud-as-hell bars he owns, but I don’t have a choice. Making nice with fellow business owners is a whole lot of what my job looks like nowadays, and I know I can’t complain, but shit, my head’s not in it tonight.
I pull on my suit jacket and tie my laces, nearly tripping over myself when my phone dings. I rush to check the text, hope bubbling up faster than I can tamp it down, but when I check, it’s just my driver telling me he’s here.
It’s not her.
Every single time I get a text or a call, I jump to answer it, hoping it’s the woman who’s been dominating my every thought. But she hasn’t messaged me once.
I sigh heavily, dragging my hand through my hair as I lock up and head down to the car.
Twenty minutes later, I’m getting settled in a black leather booth. Neon lights streak overhead, illuminating the dark club, and pop music blares through the speakers. Thankfully, it’s slightly less overwhelmingly loud in this booth, or else there’s no way in hell I’d be able to hear Trent as he drones on about all the improvements he’s made to this bar in the five years it's been open. Neon’s was his first venture into the bar business, and to his credit, it’s been a roaring success. Still not my first choice of meeting venues, though.
I take a long sip of top-shelf whiskey, which eases my annoyance a little.
“...so the next step, obviously, is a third location,” Trent continues as he takes a seat across from me. The others, Grant and Henderson, two other well-known businessmen who I’ve known for at least a decade, nod in agreement.
“Where are you thinking?” Henderson asks, raising a brow in question.
I try to concentrate on the conversation at hand, but my mind wanders. Blonde hair, blue eyes, flushed cheeks—the memory of Delaney consumes me. So much so that when I get a glimpse of her, I think I might actually be hallucinating.
I blink, but she’s still there. I turn, getting a better view of the bar over Grant’s shoulder. Delaney Graeme is leaning against the bar top, chewing her bottom lip as she waits her turn to be served.
I stand before I even realize what I’m doing, my entire focus narrowing on her. The pale blue dress she’s wearing clings to her like a second skin, showing off every delicious curve of her body, her legs accentuated by the heels on her feet. My mouth waters, my pace increasing as I push through the crowd to get to her. She looks fucking incredible, and possessiveness roars through me as I notice others noticing her.