Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“What the fuck?” I mutter, taking his phone from him. “No one asked me to say anything. These are lies!”
“Miguel and I met on a beach in Bali, and the moment I saw him, I knew, he was the one for me. He maybe did have a temper, and gets mad sometimes, but I can deal with it for the sake of the goodness I see inside him. He is my knight in shining armor.”
I shove my finger down my throat pretending to gag myself.
“My God, it’s not even grammatically correct. They make me sound like a child! Ew, ew, ew, I feel dirty!”
I continue reading. When asked about his relationship with the owner of the studio and café next door, Santiago said he had no comment, no doubt due to his plans to take over the space Graboski and her business associates now occupy.
I shiver again, and a swirl of nausea hits my stomach.
Is there any truth to this? Did I make a wrong assumption that he’d been misrepresented in the media, because that’s, like, what they do?
“Babe,” he says, plucking the phone straight out of my hand. “This is bullshit. But this is what they do. This is how they do it. They get pictures of us together, they publish them wherever the fuck they want to, they make shit up and get their clicks. That’s all it is.”
“Okay,” I say, but I’m definitely hesitating. I’m not okay with any of this, to be honest. I don’t like that I’m looking over my shoulder. I remember how he broke the camera right in front of everyone a few weeks ago at his restaurant, how he just did it like it was the right thing to do.
And at the time, I’d kinda wondered if it was, if someone of his caliber needed to make the occasional point like that.
But now I wonder something else.
Does he have a side of him that I haven’t seen yet? A few weeks with a guy doesn’t really mean much in the grand scheme of things, does it?
Is he only using me?
Does he still have plans for taking over our space?
I’m not the type to hold things back, so on our drive down to Cape Cod, where I hope to find out more information, I ask him all these questions and more.
He insists on driving. “It’s a control thing,” he says, and I have to admit that a few hours ago, I’d have found that hot. I like when he’s all in control and in charge. But now… I wonder.
Do I really?
Am I willingly allowing myself to fall for a guy who is all “my way or the highway?”
I’m not gonna lie, I like it when he goes all dominant with me in bed. I’ve been yanked over his knee on more than one occasion, and it always leaves me all hot and bothered. I might have even antagonized him intentionally a time or two just to get him to smack my ass.
I like it when he ties my wrists with his necktie and has his way with me. It’s all kinds of hot, and it’s something I find myself craving.
I like unleashing the beast.
I like that he’s got things under control.
Hell, maybe I even like being, as Madison so aptly put it, the beauty to his beast. Not that I’d call myself a beauty, but that’s beside the point.
Being with him… it doesn’t demoralize me or anything like that. It’s quite the opposite. I find it empowering. I’m the one who chooses to give him this power.
But now I wonder… am I making a grave mistake?
I’ve let that article get in my head. It won’t be the first. What else will they say? Do they represent any kind of truth?
“Miguel.”
“Yeah, baby?” His hand comes possessively to my thigh, resting right there. I love it when he does that. But now I have to focus on being serious, on getting real answers.
“Are you still planning on taking over our store?”
A shadow crosses his features, and for some reason, it makes me sad. Not for me, not for my shop, but for him. He wrestles demons, sometimes, and I wish he didn’t have to.
“There was a time when I was, yes. I put Raul on the job. But no, I couldn’t do that to you now.”
I nod. Fair. Of course he’d say that, though. Wouldn’t he?
“Is this the real you? Why does the media portray you as such a douchebag?”
His eyes remain on the road, his hand still rests on my thigh, but I can feel the tension in his touch. “The real me can be temperamental, and you know that. I haven’t hidden that side of me. But I like to think I’ve grown up over the years. The truth is, I don’t play by their rules. I don’t kiss ass. I don’t say niceties just because I’m supposed to. And the media doesn’t like that.”