Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
That nagging faded scar on his face hiding so many questions I want to ask.
The delirious way he kisses like a man laying claim, and now that I’m his, I’ve forgotten how to be anything else.
I wake up alone in bed, dizzy and disjointed as I look down. Mol must’ve overheated at some point overnight and crawled on the floor, flattening herself out like she sometimes does. I can hear her snoring softly.
Streetlamp-yellow creeps past the gap in my curtains, and I know I’ve officially lost it.
These aren’t normal Destiny thoughts.
They’re dirty, regressive, depraved.
I roll over and check the time, inwardly cursing the primitive instincts living inside my twenty-first-century body.
Half past five a.m.
Painfully early, but it’s not worth going back to sleep now.
Molly leaps up beside me when she hears me moving with a big stretch, wags twice, and licks her lips.
“I can always count on you for an early breakfast, can’t I?”
She licks my face in agreement.
At least I caught her awake before my alarm went off.
Normally, she bolts up like a crazy dog, bursting with excitement for bacon and cheese and her morning run.
I’m a morning person, too, even if I don’t have puppy energy.
But for the first time ever, I’m dreading today.
As soon as I get moving, it’s back to the status quo. The weekend, over and forgotten like one more fever dream.
Shepherd Foster, nothing but an illusion.
Jesus.
We never talked through what happens if we bump into each other around the office, either.
Am I really supposed to strut around with a polite nod, pretending I haven’t seen him naked?
I wonder how I’ll even look Carol in the eye without cracking up and revealing the insane secret that’s burning me alive.
I slept with our boss.
And if she ever finds out, it’s not my own reputation that worries me.
How will she see him, when she was so sure Dumas was lying and he’d never do anything like that?
She treats him like her own son, so patient in the face of his bluster.
And Mark... ugh.
He won’t miss a beat asking about my weekend.
One little slip and the office blabbermouth will know that our trip resulted in the hottest sex west of the Rockies.
Otters.
Stick to otters.
We saw cute, endangered, wonderful otters and it was incredible.
That’s what I need to focus on.
Just to drive it home, I grab my phone from the nightstand and unplug it, squinting at the harsh light from the screen.
My eyes are assaulted.
An avalanche of notifications fill my screen, and my phone becomes a vibrating brick. I was going to scroll through the pics I took this weekend, but instead, I see my name over and over again on—well, everything.
Google Alerts. I set them up for media mentions, just in case.
And tags.
So many tags.
Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, TikTok. Countless people tagging me, blowing up my DMs on every freaking platform.
What now?
Frowning, I open a few and let my tired brain try to process the words on the screen.
Maybe this is just a freaky coattails effect from the Young Influencers publicity. I hope.
Except, it’s not that at all, and it’s obvious as soon as I see the words.
I sit up in bed so stiffly it alarms Molly, who bounds over and presses her big rubbery nose into my face.
I might be crying.
Tears of fury and confusion and disbelief, wishing I’d never opened the link. But it’s not just your run-of-the mill troll.
It goes to Meghan “Tea” Maven’s latest video, posted overnight.
She’s wearing her usual look, eye-melting lipstick and impeccable makeup that fits her snarky brand, plus jade-green cosmic nails that look downright lethal.
There’s a malicious smile on her face as she introduces herself.
“Hiii, party people,” she drawls. “It’s your girl, Maggie, and I’m back with a whole freakin’ tea party today. Remember billionaire scumbag Shepherd Foster? The same Shepherd Foster who just pulverized Vanessa Dumas’ heart into little stabby pieces? Welllll...”
She stretches the word like her hideous smile.
I already know what’s coming next.
She tagged me, after all.
The sound of my own ragged breath fills my ears, but her shrill, attention-grabbing voice still penetrates.
“Some of you might remember the Young Influencers program he started? Clearly, a desperate attempt to polish up his company and make everybody forget about his dirty misdeeds. Spoiler alert: we didn’t. But the details are here if you wanna take a gander...” She points to the link her editor added to some tabloid garbage. “Dirty birdy benefactor aside, Young Influencers was an amazing opportunity with a very generous prize package. The money and terms are practically unheard of. A whole boatload of people applied. I know because I was one of them.”
She pauses, staring into the camera with a shrug.
“What? Don’t look at me like that!” she croons. “Before you get all judgy, don’t act like you wouldn’t take a pile of money from a dude who breathes small-dick energy too, if you could put it toward a good cause. Anyway...”