Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“You what?”
“I’m going to hang up now,” he says. “You’re sending me too much negative juju.”
With that, he disconnects.
I fight the overwhelming urge to toss my phone into the swamp. Instead, I force myself to check on flights. Naturally, there aren’t any available because that would mean that something has gone my way. I call the airline directly, and the so-called customer service agent informs me that the money for my earlier ticket is forfeit, and that, just like it states online, there aren’t any flights available for tonight.
Damn it. This means I’ll need somewhere to stay, and I have no idea if Marcus booked that mansion beyond yesterday.
Speaking of which, what about my stuff at the mansion?
I stress over all of these questions until we reach the shore, where Dottie and Ashton are already waiting.
Ashton must notice my gloomy expression when we get off the boat because he grabs Bubba by his collar, lifts him in the air again, and after a shake, demands, “What did you do?”
“It wasn’t him,” I say quickly.
“Oh.” Ashton sets Bubba back on his feet. “What happened?”
“Not now,” I say. “We have bigger problems.”
Ashton frowns. “Like?”
“Like our stuff.”
He waves my words away. “I called Marcus. The staff at the mansion packed our suitcases. They’re waiting for us in the garage.”
“Oh. Great. Can we sleep there one more night?” And if so, would we share a room, as per our new tradition? It’s probably a bad idea, but I could—
“Why sleep there?” he asks. “We have a private plane waiting.”
Oh. “Must be nice to be so rich.”
“I wouldn’t know,” he says with a grin. “It’s Marcus’s plane.”
“I obviously knew that,” I mutter.
He leads me to where a car is already waiting for us, and as we drive to the mansion, I tell him about losing my job.
“That fucker,” he says grimly. “But you know what? You’re better off.”
“Am I?”
He puts a reassuring arm around my shoulders. “If he can fire you like that after three years, and over basically nothing, then fuck him.”
“Maybe you’re right.” And Ashton doesn’t even know that my salary from that job wasn’t enough to pay my bills. “I’ve already learned everything I wanted to learn from him.”
“There you go. It’s time you work for yourself. Create VersaWear, or something else that inspires you.”
“Yeah.” I feel a jolt of excitement. “That’s exactly what I’ll do.”
“Did you bring your laptop with you on the trip?”
I nod.
“Why don’t you work on VersaWear on the flight back? I’ll help as much as I can.”
How wrong would it be if I jumped on his cock right here and now? The driver wouldn’t mind, right?
Before I get the chance to do anything, we pull up to the mansion.
“Can you wait for us?” Ashton asks the driver. “It might be a few minutes, but I’ll make it worth your while.”
The driver agrees, and we walk up to the mansion, where the butler takes us to our suitcases.
“Can we shower and change before we go?” I ask.
“Sure,” the manager says. “No one is using the steam room at the moment. There are showers there and a locker room.”
We head over there, and when the warm water hits my skin, I barely suppress a moan of pleasure.
How did humanity survive without showers for the majority of its history?
After the shower, I debate whether to dress comfortably for the flight or to make Ashton want me.
Then again, why choose? I’ve got a bodysuit and skinny jeans with me. Yeah. But I won’t go overboard and wear heels on the plane. Instead, I put on a fresh pair of socks and sneakers, then work on my makeup.
Feeling amazing, especially for someone who’s just lost her job, I exit the changing room and smile at Ashton, who’s already waiting for me.
The heat in his eyes tells me my outfit is working as intended.
Oh, and boy, did he clean up well also. His face is freshly shaved, his skin glowing, and his lush golden hair would look right at home in a shampoo commercial. To make matters worse—or better—he’s wearing a tight white polo shirt, navy fitted chinos, and brown leather boots, a combo that makes me want to strip him naked.
“Should we go?” he asks.
I walk up to him. “Maybe. Or maybe—”
The stupid manager comes in at that very moment and asks if there’s anything else we need.
Getting the hint, Ashton gives the guy an obscene tip, and we return to the car with our luggage.
“If you’d like, I can call a few of my clients and consult with them on VersaWear,” Ashton says as we get going.
I glance at him. “I’m not sure…”
“Let’s give it a shot,” he says and calls someone named Megan. He introduces me and asks her what features she’d want in an outfit that can be worn for workouts and out.