Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
The door to the town car opens, snapping me from my thoughts. I climb out and lean back in, reaching for Alana’s hand to help her out. Lights flash from all directions as Alana grabs my arm as if she belongs there and smiles, knowing her face will be in tomorrow’s paper. We always are.
“Theo, you should smile more. It makes for a better picture.”
I pull her down the red carpet without much pause, avoiding her love of the spotlight. “I’ll smile when I have something to smile about.” She knows our arrangement, and I’ve never given her reason to expect anything more from me. If she thinks that will change after the merger, she can save me the trouble, do the right thing, and stop this façade.
I spend the rest of the wretched evening with Alana by my side, mingling with clients. Barely paying attention to the performance, my mind flashes with a dark memory.
“Theo, honey, have you tried these little tarts? They’re delicious. My trainer’s going to have to overwork me all next week for eating this. Hello, are you even listening to me?” My skin crawls when her fingers touch my shoulder. My hand shoots up and grabs her wrist. “Ouch, you’re hurting me.”
“Good. I prefer to do much worse. Don’t fucking touch me.” I drop her hand and walk off toward the terrace, needing a moment to calm down. If she knew better, she wouldn’t follow me. But she has the sense of a fucking rock.
“You know, this doesn’t have to be so hard. We can be good together. You sure didn’t say no that summer—”
I whip around and capture her neck. With each step forward, I force her back until she’s pressed against the stone wall. Looking down at her, I can barely control my anger and disgust. “That summer was a fucking mistake. An aberration. Every single thing about you makes me sick. And if you think there will ever be anything between us but a contract and a lie, then you are further gone than I thought.”
“It’s not a lie. I left—”
My fingers flex and tighten. If I don’t calm down, I’m going to do something I’ll regret. “You know damn well I never fucking raped that girl. The only one I fucked that night was you. And from what I do recall, we were all over that hotel room. Or was that just a dream? Because shit is coming back to me bit by bit. You spread your legs like a little whore, begging me to fuck you. You let an almost stranger do filthy things to you. I bet Daddy would love to hear those stories. Was it a dream that you sucked me off and begged me to come all over your face? How about that ass you let me get at? That a lie too?” Her eyes blaze with heat. Memories from that night have started to filter back to me. Proof that whatever they conjured up is a lie. Blackmail.
“Tell me how much you wanted it, and maybe I’ll give it to you again.”
She licks her lips. Her back arches, and she pushes her breasts at me like they’re desperate for my touch. “I loved it. I want more.”
My hand shakes with rage. My thumb digs into her neck as her pulse hammers against my skin. She moans around my hand. "Theo, yes. Harder. Hurt me." I want to do more than just hurt her.
When I finally snap back to the present, people are standing and applauding.
“Wasn’t that wonderful?”
I stand and adjust my suit coat. “Time to go.”
“Aren’t we going to stay for the post-show cocktails?”
“I have a busy day tomorrow.” I wave to a few gentlemen while dragging a pouting Alana out of the hall. I’m silent as we drive away and finally feel like I can breathe when we pull up to her brownstone, and she storms out of my town car.
“Home, Mr. Monroe?”
My hand slides over my phone screen. I gaze down at my email with the number and address I requested from Human Resources this morning. Temptation simmers inside my chest—a constant battle between right and wrong. I have no business knowing that information, but I couldn’t help myself. This lack of control that I’m unfamiliar with rages inside me. The desire to know everything about her.
My mind conjures up someone I haven’t thought about in years. The only other woman who’s ever sparked this need inside me. Claire. Hurt, rage, and regret resurface.
“Yes, home. Thank you.”
Instead, I fire off an unnecessary text before putting too much thought into it.
Me: What’s the status of the Wilson Reports? I need those on my desk first thing.
I watch as three little dots appear and wait for her to respond. A few beats pass, and the dots disappear. Then my phone vibrates.