Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
“Someone needs to inherit my fortune.”
Zach re-racked the pool table. “Pull a Gates and MacKenzie Scott. Donate most of it.”
“Do you know me?” I scowled. “If Philanthropy met me in a dark alley, it would play dead, and I would still kill it just for the blood sport.”
He clucked his tongue, chalking the tip of his pool cue.
“So, what I’m taking from this is that you’re absolutely, certainly, without a doubt fucking your wife.” Oliver finished fumigating his man cave of his hookups’ lingerie and graduated to collecting empty condom wrappers from the floor. Why on Earth did I think this brothel was worthy of my wedding? “And that she gives great head.”
“Lernaean Hydra.” Zach nodded. “One head isn’t enough to chip the ice. I’m thinking five, minimum.”
“Stop talking about my sex life,” I barked.
Oliver grinned. “Is her sister eighteen yet?”
I hurled my half-full beer in his direction.
Jackass.
I didn’t visit Dallas’s room that night. Mainly to prove to myself that I still had control over the matter. Our time together was not compulsory. I wasn’t obsessed. In fact, I did not miss her warmth and cunt and kisses at all. Not as I laid in my frigid, too-vast bed. And not as I stared at the ceiling, wondering what fresh hell I would prepare for Madison Licht tomorrow.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Romeo
From the start, Dallas scheduled Christmas with her family while I spent it with mine. An arrangement we had made in the rare times we’d spoken before shedding our clothes. One we thought would work well. Problem was, I’d wondered how I would tolerate five entire days without Dallas beside me.
The haunting prospect urged me to try an experiment. I planned to avoid Shortbread for a few days to prove to myself that I could, indeed, live my life without sinking my cock and tongue inside her, just as I had the thirty-one years prior to meeting her.
On the first day, I came home late enough that she’d already fallen asleep.
On the second, I arrived with a guest. Oliver. That would surely keep her at bay.
To my surprise, Shortbread wasn’t in the kitchen when we entered, her natural habitat. She wasn’t in the living room or my study, either. (In the latter, she enjoyed reading and leaving snack crumbs, just to remind me I’d never have a tidy house again.)
Oliver helped himself to whatever Hettie had prepared earlier, while I pretended not to be puzzled by Dallas’s behavior.
“Hettie,” I barked, interrupting her struggle into a puffer jacket. “Is Shor—Dallas here?”
She turned, frowning. “Isn’t it the official first sale of the fourteenth Henry Plotkin book? She’s probably lined up in front of the Potomac Yards Barnes & Noble, trying to snatch a signed first edition.”
Of course. She loved those silly books.
I peered outside, scowling. Snow piled in giant white boulders. “Was she bundled up when she left?”
Oliver’s head shot up from the bowl of pepper pot soup. He gaped at me, a spoon tumbling out of his lips.
“Oh, I didn’t actually see her leave. I’ve been present shopping.” Hettie triple-wrapped a scarf around her neck, shoving her hands into mittens. It was so cold, she wore layers for her short walk across the lawn to her residence.
My nostrils flared. “She probably wore a baby doll and sandals there.”
Hettie laughed. “Knowing her, probably.” She waved to me and Oliver before leaving.
I remained rigid for a few more beats while Oliver ogled me. He ladled his spoon inside the dish, gulping down a bite. “You can just call her, you know.”
I could. But she wouldn’t answer. I suspected she didn’t like that I’d disappeared the last few days. “I’m going to grab a coat and scarf for Jared to drive to her.” I shook my head, feigning exasperation, though I was more worried than infuriated. “I’ll be right back.”
On my journey up the stairs, I reminded myself I owed Dallas nothing. We’d always been an arrangement, and she knew it. So what if we hadn’t seen each other for days? She hardly sought me out, either.
When I reached Dallas’s room, I was surprised to find her still inside it. Even more so that she laid in bed. Shortbread didn’t contemplate sleep before one in the morning. Yet, a neon-red seven glared at me from the alarm on her nightstand. The rose beside it had wilted, with only two more petals clinging on for dear life. I couldn’t understand why she hadn’t gotten rid of the stupid thing by now.
“Let me guess.” I tromped into her room. “You hired someone to stand in line for you, so you wouldn’t have to move your precious ass—” The rest of my sentence died in my throat as I finally caught a full glimpse of her.
Probably for the first time in her life, Dallas Costa looked terrible. A cherry flush stained her cheeks, but all color had drained elsewhere, leaving her as pale as her dying rose. White flakes peppered her lips, depleted of moisture, while a dull glaze coated her eyes. I rested my hand on her forehead. Furnace-hot.