Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
She asks to meet up later to look at an apartment she said I can stay in while I’m here. It looks like I’ll be here for at least another month, and her old apartment is apparently available.
Deciding the best action is to shower before I call Will, I make sure I eat everything on my plate before I do. Once I’m clean and dressed in clothes that I haven’t slept in, I dial his number.
He answers straight away.
“Milady,” he croons. I still cringe at the word and I’m certain he’s used it ever since he realizes how much I hate it–always purposefully winding me up, baiting me for a reaction.
“My name is Alina,” I remind him. And to think, for a second, I was considering him to be anything but annoying.
“If you say so.” He chuckles.
“Did you send me breakfast?” I ask, exasperated because I’m really not in the mood for his quick responses this morning. More or less I’m not sure if I can keep up with them while I’m in such a vulnerable state.
“Of course I did. I hear the way to get between a woman’s legs is to feed her, so I’m feeding you.”
I sag back into bed, shaking my head with a sigh. “You really have no shame.”
“I do not,” he confesses. “Now, meet me downstairs. I need a shopping partner, and I know you’ll give me your honest opinion.”
“Shopping? I don’t know if I’m in the mood to go anywhere today.”
“You owe me a favor, remember?”
“A favor for wh—”
He hangs up, and I curse under my breath. Motherfucker.
Considering I don’t meet with the contractors until Monday, I do technically have the day off. I might feel like death, but it’d also been a while since I explored New York. And the very vague memory of him helping me into my room resurfaces.
Fuck. Fine.
I change clothes, grab my purse, and head downstairs. When I reach the lobby ten minutes after the call, he’s waiting for me, dressed in a clean, pressed suit. His baby blue eyes look up from his phone screen, and that dimply smile kicks up my heart rate.
I get flashes of him pressing against me in the elevator from last night and a low ache begins between my thighs keeping tempo with my headache.
I’m pretty sure we didn’t do anything last night.
Am I disappointed that nothing happened?
I push away that irrational thought and remind myself I’m still drunk… I think.
“So, what do you need help with?” I ask as he strides along beside me. The doorman greets me with a smile, and I’m not sure if I missed out on something, because he seems to be very familiar with me.
“I figured you, who has impeccable taste, were the right person to call.”
“That I do,” I agree. “But you still haven’t told me what we’re shopping for.”
When we reach the sidewalk, a black car is already waiting for us at the curb. Will steps in front of me to open the back door. He closes it behind me, then he circles the back of the car and gets in beside me, angling himself to give me his full attention.
It’s intimidating.
Even with his smartass mouth, there is something dangerous that lurks inside him.
I kind of like it.
And I want to slap myself because of it.
I’ve dated the bad boy before, and that was the worst relationship I’ve had. I can’t fall for that type of charm again.
“I’m not telling you what we’re shopping for. It’s a surprise.”
“Are you sure you’re not kidnapping me?” I say, rolling my eyes at him.
“If I were kidnapping you, you’d be tied to my bed already,” he says matter-of-factly.
Heat swarms to my core, and the visual of that has me curling my nails into my palms. He smirks knowingly. Fuck, why does my body react to him so profoundly.
Maybe I just need to get laid—by anyone—and it’ll shake this temptation off.
The driver pulls out and follows the traffic.
“How did you get my number?” he asks. “I would have gladly given it to you if you had asked.” When I don’t reply, he leans in. Damn, he smells good. “Is it so you can send me naughty messages at night?”
“You are so full of yourself,” I’m quick to say.
“You, too, could be full of me.” He winks, and my eyes go wide.
He did not just say that.
I don’t know why I’m shocked every time he says something so promiscuous.
“Does this seriously work on other women?”
“You’ve asked me this before, love. I don’t try this hard on other women.”
“Oh, that makes me feel special.”
“You are special,” he says, continuing to stare at me. I stare back. Something passes between us, and it makes us both uncomfortable. I don’t like the way he looks at me at times like these. Like he can see me. The real me. The ugly me.