Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
I chuckle at the teasing in her voice.
“Okay, fine. But I need a shower first. I never had a chance, and you’d be surprised how pet smells linger after a full day.”
I give her time to clean up, idly checking my phone for emails in her small living room. There’s nothing groundbreaking today with my food project or my slice of digital media.
Lena’s well-being never leaves my head.
Neither does the impulse to cave her ex’s face in.
When she emerges, she’s dressed down in a T-shirt and jeans. Her face looks a thousand times better without the tear tracks.
I let out a wolf whistle until she blushes.
“Idiot,” she clips, but she doesn’t fight me as I take her arm and we head outside. I check around us as Lena locks up behind me.
No sign of the clown who came here barking threats.
My SUV waits on the curb, and I help her in before climbing into the driver’s seat.
It doesn’t take long to get to my penthouse. We’re mostly silent until we’re through the traffic and up my elevator, heading into my living room.
“I always forget how big it is.” She sighs.
Compared to her little mid-century house, I guess so, but there are days when I’d prefer a smaller space. I don’t do much here besides work and sleep, or else brood in front of the firepit on the balcony long after most of Seattle falls asleep.
Call it what it is—first world problems for a man who’s learning to carve his name on the world with more than money.
I get her seated and bring her a glass of water.
“So, tomorrow,” she prompts. “What are we doing again?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk about.”
She folds her arms like she’s hugging herself, looking so small. She’s still not making much eye contact.
She may look more relaxed, but there’s no mistaking how guarded she seems after that Salvador Dali–mustache creep crashed her evening.
I don’t usually let my anger simmer—growing up, grudges were a luxury. Any resentment had to be abruptly squashed under the stifling blanket of polite civility.
Most people think of rich guys as being spoiled, and maybe we are. But for me, growing up old money, everything about my life was so perfectly planned and conditioned I wasn’t free to misbehave.
Not until I started to mutiny, acting out as a teenager.
Guess that rubbed off when I chose a life in the public eye, every movement and word carefully crafted for effect.
There’s no room for impulsivity.
Yet here I am.
My mom would call me confused right now.
My dad would throw a fit over laying hands on an intruder instead of waiting for the hired help to do it for me.
That doesn’t mean I have any intention of changing a single damn thing.
Lena huffs out a long breath, her chest heaving as she pushes out every last bit of air in a long sigh.
I shuffle closer, taking her hand.
“Forget tomorrow. Tell me about today,” I press gently. “Don’t mince words or worry what I’ll do. Because any guy after you is my problem.”
She narrows her eyes. “I already told you he wasn’t.”
“Listen, Sass. The second I heard you tell him to leave and he didn’t, he became my issue. Top of the fucking list. I wasn’t about to stand back while he tried to muscle his way into your house.”
I stop short of telling her that I’m not going to let her leave here tonight. Not until I know the situation and assess whether or not she’s truly safe.
I already know there’s more to this than meets the eye. Until today, I’ve never imagined her truly scared before.
“Think of it as returning the favor after you helped me with Nancy.”
“You didn’t need my help.”
“Sure as hell appreciated it, though. Paying you back, that’s the least I can do.” I glance at her slowly. “What the hell did he want?”
“He just wanted to talk about the clinic.” She closes her eyes and leans back against the sofa.
“Bullshit.” I squeeze her fingers. “He didn’t just look like he came to talk business.”
“He’s a cutthroat.”
“He’s a psycho. That’s not the way you look at competition.”
Her eyelids flutter. “How did he look at me?”
Like prey.
“Like he wasn’t done with you. Like you just broke up yesterday.” I go with the second-best answer.
Also, the bitter truth.
That man looked at her like he wanted to devour her, and not in some kind of sadistic, sexual way.
More like he wanted to destroy her. Like her tears amused him. Like he wanted to take her apart, piece by piece, purely for the joy of leaving her shattered.
Too far? Maybe. There’s still no way in hell I’m letting that happen to her again.
“Did he ever hurt you? Tell me the truth.” It’s a heart-wrenching question I hate to have to ask.
Lena’s nostrils flare as she drags in a deep breath.