Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Her cheeks pink, and as much as I like the look of heat in her cheeks, it bothers me that she’s embarrassed.
“Up the skirt?”
“What? No! There are a series of shots of me stuffing my face.”
I grin remembering how she voraciously devoured her meal yesterday.
“Why are you smiling?”
I shrug. “You were hungry.”
“I was,” she agrees. “And by this time next week, I’ll either be on bump watch for those thinking I’m pregnant or in a follow-up story with an eating disorder.”
I scrape a hand over my face before joining her at the same table she threw her sexy leg up on last night. “I don’t even know why it’s news.”
“It’s not really. My parents have their people constantly searching the internet for new stories about me—fires they’ll have to have their people put out. Only people really looking will find it.”
Which means Wren probably has a search running as well. It’s to be expected, but I hate knowing the guys back home have more information than I do.
“I should’ve had a salad,” she muses, stirring the yogurt until the fruit on the bottom is mixed throughout.
“You should eat what you want.”
She huffs but refuses to look up at me.
“What are you eating for breakfast?”
“I already had breakfast,” I lie.
Actually, I didn’t feel like eating this morning, and even my normal coffee tasted a little off. I blame the war going on inside of me with wanting to leave yet needing to stay.
“What are the plans for the day?” She looks up at me for the first time in what seems like forever.
“You make the rules. You tell me.”
“A little game of cat and mouse?”
My stomach clenches as she wraps her lips around the spoon.
“I prefer not to have to explain it to your parents, especially after I just assured them we were getting along so well.”
“Hmm.” She taps her spoon against her lips but doesn’t say another word.
Making her parents happy isn’t on the top of her list, and after seeing the way both of them reacted to her moments ago, I can’t blame her. What I do know is that her feelings were hurt by both of them and that means she has no choice but to act out at some point today.
Chapter 8
Remington
I’m once again by the pool. Once again fully clothed because Flynn has ruined my ability to seduce. Plus, my parents are home. It would just be creepy for either one of them or a member of their staff to see my boobs.
Charles is talking to Flynn outside, and with the way the sun reflects off the glass surrounding the indoor pool, I know neither one of them can see me. It doesn’t keep Flynn from glancing in this direction as if he knows I’m in here watching him.
I hate it when my parents are home. When they’re away, it’s easier to imagine they’re busy and that’s why they don’t call or check on me. With them in the same house, there’s no excuse. Mother telling me to be more presentable earlier today was the most words she’s spoken to me in months. Yes, they’re gone all the time, but they were home a couple weeks ago and neither one of them uttered a single word to me. I can’t even walk into a store without chatting with people. How they manage that in their own home with their daughter is beyond me.
Flynn had to see just how unimportant I am. Add to it the photos online of me with Caesar sauce dripping down my chin, and my day was ruined before I even got out of bed.
Headlines like Is Remi on Another Binge? and Remington Blair: Is She Replacing Drugs with Food? make me want to scream.
How about Remington Blair Wants to Get the Attention of a Hot Guy with an Americanized British Accent Even if It Means Grossing Him Out by Eating Too Much? Or Henry Cavill Look-alike Watches the Girl of His Dreams Devour a Pita Pocket with the Same Enthusiasm She Sucks His—
You get the point. Either of those last two captions would be more fitting.
But the tabloids never get it right. The truth hardly ever sells better than the lies they generate.
Unable to stay around the house while my parents are here and ignoring me, I fire off a couple of texts in desperation looking for some other place to be besides here.
***
The music in the house is loud enough to literally change the rhythm of my heart. Less than a year ago, I lived for nights like this. House parties are a little more intimate, a little more controlled than clubs and I could drink without a fake ID. I could snort lines off the coffee table with limited risk of it ending up on the front page of STAR magazine or as a plug on TMZ.