Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Being a go-getter sets her apart from other women. She’s never going to be the type who waits for someone to take care of or rescue her. Instead, she enjoys being independent and figuring out how to do stuff herself.
She’s a rarity, which makes her even more intriguing.
It certainly doesn’t help she’s wearing the clothes I bought her. Especially when I know damn well if I were to hike her skirt up, she’d be wearing the silky unmentionables I’d bought, too. Fuck how I’d love to see that.
Just once. Well, at least once, but preferably more.
Yeah… I want her badly. But I keep telling myself I can’t go there. I don’t mix business with pleasure.
Too bad she’s not a member of The Wicked Horse. If she were the no-strings type sex clubs are made for, she might be a safe bet to dally with. She would understand sex is just sex, and once out of the club, there is nothing else to bind.
It’s also ironic I’m fantasizing about getting her in a sex club when I’m in the process of creating my own. She hasn’t been clued in, but I’m meeting with potential investors because I’m building an exclusive vacation resort that blends the luxury of the Blackwood name with a little kink by adding a sex club to the available amenities.
What would Bailey think if she knew those boring investment meetings she had to attend were to facilitate the construction of kinky hotels?
“Good morning, Mr. Blackwood,” she says. And, goddamn, even the way she so formally says my name turns me on. Not for the first time, I imagine her in a collar attached to a chain, crawling across the floor toward me.
Once again, I can’t help but wonder if she’d approve or be disgusted by my plans to create a sex club resort.
“Good morning,” I reply when I reach her, taking the offered cup of coffee. She follows me into my office, seating herself in a guest chair while I move around my desk. I set the cup down, bend slightly to log in to my computer, then lower myself into my sumptuous leather executive chair. It’s big enough to accommodate Bailey, too, should she ever get the urge to crawl onto my lap.
Fuck. Get her out of your goddamn mind, Blackwood.
“I had to push your lunch appointment to one thirty,” Bailey says as she reads notes from her iPad. “Mr. Iverson’s flight is delayed.”
I study her, looking crisp and professional in a cream-colored dress with geometric block patterns done in navy blue, brown, and black. Her heels are black peep toes, and I’m even fucking turned on by her apricot-colored toenail polish.
Christ.
Not sure what compels me—the lap fantasy?—but I make a snap decision to figure out precisely what she thinks about my plans.
“Mr. Iverson is the last investor I’ll be interviewing,” I inform her. “I’d like you to block off the rest of my afternoon so you and I can discuss the project’s next steps.”
“Next steps, sir?”
Fuck… what it does when she calls me “sir.”
“Even though you’ve attended meetings, you haven’t inquired about why I need investors.”
“I didn’t feel it was my place,” she murmurs. “I thought if you wanted me to know—”
“I intend to open a unique type of resort,” I interrupt. “One which will be separate from the Blackwood empire.”
“Why wouldn’t you want it to be part of the Blackwood empire? The brand itself seems like it offers guaranteed success.”
That makes me chuckle. Nothing about building a new resort—Blackwood name or not—is ever guaranteed to be successful. But she’s not wrong… the Blackwood money would grease the wheels.
I tap my fingers on the desk, studying her. Should I reveal my true intentions for the result? Fuck it. I brace for her reaction. “I’m going to create a boutique luxury resort, which will contain a sex club as its main focus.”
At first, her expression blanks, but then her eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. I’m stunned when she merely says, “Interesting… I assume you think there’s a market for it?”
Once again, I chuckle. “Oh, there’s a huge market for it. The wealthy will pay a premium chunk of change for the privilege.”
“And you want outside investors because you cannot associate the Blackwood name with such an endeavor?” she concludes.
“My family would not be happy about it,” I concede. “In fact, I would be the silent partner in the project while my investor would be the public face.”
When she frowns, I figure this is where she’ll reveal just how progressive—or not—she’ll be in this matter. “I still don’t understand why you want to do this. I mean… as the Blackwood heir, you don’t need extra income. And if you will only be a silent partner in this project, you won’t get any recognition from it, so why even bother?”