Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
She was going to go twenty-one shots for her twenty-first, and I was being dragged to some fancy charity Halloween party. I was certain we couldn’t be further apart than tonight.
Still, I couldn’t keep myself from replying.
If you need me, Wright, I’ll be there.
I waited for her response, but it didn’t come. I sighed and shoved my phone into my pocket. I’d deal with that later. After this stupid party.
There were Wrights at the party.
Ashleigh had not warned me that there would be Wrights at the party.
I crossed my arms over my chest in the brown leather jacket that my sister had sent over, along with a brown Stetson fedora to complete my Indiana Jones costume. Luckily, it wasn’t Jordan and Julian, but I’d had enough run-ins with the other side of the family that I wasn’t particularly happy to see any of them either.
“Chase,” Ashleigh said with a smile as she approached me in her Barbie holiday ball gown. Her elbow-length-gloved arm was linked with a girl in a skintight black leather cat costume.
“You didn’t tell me Wrights would be here.”
Ashleigh widened her eyes and tilted her head at the cat. “Chase, this is my friend Layla.”
“Hi,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes at me. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, trying to care and coming up lacking.
Ashleigh had been trying to push all of her friends on me since I’d taken over the company. Apparently, I was a charity case now.
Then, I returned my attention to my sister. “You didn’t mention Wrights.”
“Jesus, Chase, they own the town. Just assume they’ll be here.”
“Do you want to get a drink?” Layla asked.
“Layla is a speech language pathologist professor, Chase,” Ashleigh said, nudging me.
“That’s nice. I’m not drinking tonight.”
“What?” Ashleigh asked in confusion. “Whyever not?”
“I want to be able to drive home.” I nodded my head at Layla. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Then, I walked across the room to avoid my sister and her latest hope for me. Layla might be a delight. A speech language pathologist sounded lovely. But if it was a setup from my sister, I wasn’t interested.
I wandered the room, shaking hands with business partners and steering clear of Wrights. I made eye contact with Morgan Wright, the current CEO of Wright Construction, long enough to know that I wasn’t wanted and moved on. The night was getting late by the time the rest of the attendees were beginning to appear intoxicated. Enough so that I was second-guessing whether or not I should have had a drink this whole time.
Or just gone home.
I should do another circuit of the room, schmooze with the other business owners and all of that good networking bullshit.
But it was Harley’s birthday.
And I hadn’t heard from her in hours.
I was sure she was having a good time, drinking herself sick. That was what college students were supposed to do. And they didn’t need someone ten years older worrying about them.
“Fuck,” I grumbled. “I should just go home.”
I left and headed to my car when my phone went off. I checked the message and saw a picture of Harley holding up a shot of some clear liquid.
take a bday shot w me
What number are you on?
lost count
sharpie marks on arm are blurry
Sharpie marks? Were they marking the number of drinks on her body?
or maybe seeing double ???
Great.
Do you need me to pick you up?
that’s not what I need from u
What do you need from me?
come find out
The text was followed by a picture of her cherry-red lips making a kissy face. Then a follow-up of the bar name where she was currently located. A bar that was a mere two minutes from my current location.
Fuck it.
Harley stood on the side of Broadway when I miraculously found a parking spot for my Porsche outside of the bar. I’d nabbed it right as someone was leaving. I stepped out and froze at the sight of her.
She’d conveniently not shown me a full picture of her costume for the night. And I should have fucking guessed.
“Harley Quinn,” I said with a smirk.
She did a twirl straight out of the movie, and my cock lurched. Her blonde hair was up in pigtails. The ends dyed blue and red. She had on the quintessential ripped tee that said Daddy’s Lil Monster, tiny blue-and-red shorts, fishnet tights, and heeled boots.
“You made it.” She stumbled off the curb and strode in my direction. She tumbled slightly, leaning against the hood of my car. A laugh left her lips, as maniacal as her namesake. Then, she sprawled onto my car. Her back arched, and she pushed her hands up over her head.
I stepped up to her and raised an eyebrow. “You’re drunk.”
“Legally,” she said with a giggle.
“Better than our first meeting.”
“Nothing is better than that,” she said, closing her eyes and sighing. “Is it supposed to be so…spinny?”