Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
That little minx.
If she wants to play games, we can play games.
I fix my tie, take the stage, and accept the spa basket. It contains a few bath bombs, some facemasks, a bar of dollar store soap, and those little candles that can float on water. If Fiora thinks she’s embarrassed me, she has another think coming.
“Can I say a few words?” I ask the host with a smile. “Only a few seconds.”
“Of course, of course!”
She holds the microphone up to my lips to let me speak. I turn to the small crowd, making sure to smile for the photographer who takes my picture.
“I’m sure it looks strange for me to be standing here with a robe that’s about two sizes too small. It is my color, though.” I wait for the chuckles to subside before I continue. “But this gift is actually for the future Mrs. Frost. I’m sure she’ll love it.”
A few gasps rise from the crowd with murmurs of excitement. The cameras keep flashing as I head off stage holding the godforsaken gift basket. Fiora stares at me dumbfounded as I pass her table, but I don’t look her way. I haven’t said her name, and I haven’t even looked at her. If she plays her cards right, no one will know it’s her. But if she messes up, her little secret is out of her own accord.
I return to the empty table where I stood previously and set down the gift basket. Fiora glares at me from across the room, but this time, I’m the one ignoring her. This game is fun for me. I love seeing the fire in her eyes, especially when it’s directed at me. The last time it happened, my dick was in her mouth, and I certainly won’t mind it happening again.
“And now for the signed Barry Manilow picture, coming in at a whopping $5,000! Congratulations Amy Fitzgerald!”
No one moves or comes up to claim their prize. That’s the item Fiora wrote down for, but she doesn’t move a muscle. Who the hell is Amy Fitzgerald?
“Amy Fitzgerald, are you here?”
I fish the burner phone out of my pocket and shoot off a text to Nexxor. Look up Amy Fitzgerald while you’re at it. Give me the info in five minutes.
You’re lucky I’m at my computer, the answer comes soon after.
“Maybe Amy is too busy listening to Barry Manilow songs in her car to claim her prize?” the host jokes. “You know, my dad took me to one of his shows in Vegas when I was younger, and…”
The phone buzzes in my hand as the host rambles about her memories.
No registered Amy Fitzgerald in Seattle. Did find the name on a few websites though. Here you go. Add it to the tab.
I open the attachment Nexxor sent. It’s a small list of dates and charities spanning back two years. Every charity is different, and every one is worth $10,000.
“I guess we’ll move on if Amy isn’t coming!”
Amy won’t be coming because Amy doesn’t fucking exist. It’s Fiora Godwin. What was it her dad said at our engagement dinner?
As soon as you’re married, her $10,000-a-month allowance is your problem. That’s a lot of shopping trips.
Except I’ve never seen her decked out in excessive jewelry. Her outfits are expensive but not $10,000-a-month expensive. She looks hot as fuck, but her hair and nails aren’t done ever, and she doesn’t carry name brand purses. But even if she did, that’s a drop in the bucket for 120,000-fucking-dollars a year. Not to mention that she practically lives in poverty in Heathens Hollow and was working catering gigs to pay for it. I questioned where all the monthly money was going…
Is she really giving away that entire stack of cash to charity every damn month? And why doesn’t she do it under her own name?
I weave through the clapping crowd until I’m at Fiora’s side.
“I underestimated you.” I have gotten her completely wrong. I assumed she was a spoiled rich girl. Just another Godwin, and yet…
She glances up at me, cheeks rosy with drink and eyes shimmering with curiosity.
“You know, when you swallowed my cum, you called me a good boy, but I could say the same about you.”
Her cheeks only grow more red. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re the good girl, Fiora Godwin. Or should I call you Amy Fitzgerald? Maybe even Mother Teresa?”
The crowd keeps clapping as we stare at each other, each refusing to be the one to break.
Chapter 27
Fiora
God-fucking-damnit.
Why couldn’t Braken have left it alone? Why did he have to show up now and wreck my privacy? Why does he have to look at me like I’m a present to unwrap whenever he feels like it?
Thank God the crowd bustles and talks now that the prizes have all been handed out. This is when the party will start, but I’m ready to head home and say forget it. Between Braken’s “Mrs.” bath earlier and my secret being out, I’m not up to celebrating.