Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
This book is going to be so fucking good…
I tune back into the conversation that is somewhat lighter, but still tense. Grandfather pulls something from his pocket. I can’t see exactly what it is, but it looks like a business card. I move closer.
“I know you have a soft spot for small-time entrepreneurs.” Grandfather passes Jake the confirmed business card.
“Canton said he’d never sell.”
“He has no choice. Put all his capital into another idea and lost it to an established patent from the late nineties. His company isn’t of much interest to me. But with a little help from you, it could go places. Still, he’ll be a hard sell. He has a lot of pride.” At that, his eyes move to me. I drop my head and study my nails.
“I’ll give him a call next week.”
“You’ll talk to him at the party tonight.” Grandfather’s tone leaves no room for negotiation. Jake’s jaw tightens but he doesn’t say anything. “Until then.” He nods to Jake then to me, turns on his heel and walks to the door in long, purposeful strides.
The instant he leaves, I whirl around and face Jake. “Miss Sims is a whore, isn’t she?”
“You ask that question like you expect me to answer it.”
I throw my hands up. “Of course I expect you to answer it, considering he thought I was her. You know what he asked me when I told him you weren’t paying me? He asked me if you paid me to say that, too.”
Jake’s not listening to me. He’s looking at my chest. I look too. And my tits are just about to bulge out of the towel. I cross my arms and take a seat on the couch. Then pull at the end of the towel to try and cover more of my naked legs.
Where the hell is that blanket?
“So is she? A whore?”
“Penelope…please,” Cam says, striding into the room. “Whore is so 1996. Jake prefers the term escort.” He drops down on the ottoman, never looking up from his phone.
Jake shakes his head. “Do you ever shut up?”
“What? You do.”
“How about we discuss what’s really important. Like what the fuck she’s still doing here. I told you I wanted her gone.”
Cam shrugs. “You said to find Miss Sims, too. I believe that takes precedence. So take a seat. Calm the fuck down. Let me do my job, then I’ll get rid of her.”
Get rid of her…
Shit.
What is he going to do? Get me out of town or feed me to the fishes?
Cam’s speech mellows Jake. At least a little bit. He runs his hands through those beautiful, black locks and takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch.
One cushion separates us.
We’re that close.
So close, I bet I could smell him.
While his focus is on Cam, I pull in a deep breath through my nose. My left nostril makes this weird, snotty noise before it clogs up and cuts off my air. It’s the most disgusting thing ever.
Maybe Jake didn’t hear it…
He heard it.
I get his usual glare. Not really repulsive, just his signature anger. Or more like raw, undulated hatred.
He says nothing as he stands and swaggers to his office. I wait for the door to slam, but he returns carrying a suit jacket. He pulls something from the inside pocket, tosses the jacket across a chair and reclaims his seat.
Then, to my horror and amusement, he offers me a handkerchief.
A real one.
Like, a cloth one.
I take it, wondering if it’s the first time he’s had the opportunity to use it. I bet he carries one every day in hopes some woman with a runny nose will come along and make all the trouble of remembering to put it in his pocket worth it.
I hide my grin behind the handkerchief and dab at my nose. I want to just blow the shit out of it, but that’ll have to wait until we reach that level of comfort all couples do once they fall in love. For us, I’m guessing it’ll only take a couple of days.
Judge Judy calls a lady a moron. I focus my attention on that rather than the eyes burning in the side of my head. Chill bumps break out across my skin. I wish I could say it’s from his arctic glare. Truth is, I’m freezing.
“Are you cold?” Jake’s tone is flat. Uncaring and bored as if he asks only because he absolutely has to. Still, an unforced shyness takes root inside me at his attempt to be…polite.
“A little.”
Without a word, he grabs the blanket from the floor and passes it to me. I try to touch his fingers—you know, so I can describe the “spark” I feel from our connection. But he ruins it by pulling away before I can.
“Thank you.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t.”
I tuck the blanket around me and my legs beneath me until the only thing visible is my head. “Don’t what?”