Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Yeah, he did want the bacon, sausage, French toast, and ham—all of it. But he was determined to stick to his diet…this time around.
Eightieth time was a charm.
He paid, snatched his bag, and left with his head down to eat alone in his car.
Each bite felt like he was going to fail again. The food was bland, unsatisfying, and not nearly enough.
He told himself food was fuel, nothing more. It wasn’t supposed to be comfort.
“You eat to live…not live to eat,” his trainer always stressed.
Yet twenty minutes later, he found himself at Dunkin’, handing over eleven crumpled bills for a half-dozen glazed doughnuts.
I’m gonna do an extra twenty minutes on the elliptical tonight.
When the warm bag was clutched in his hands, he breathed in the delicious scent of sugar and baked bread, and for a moment, he felt less hollow.
He parked behind the building at his job and ate them quickly, all while swearing he’d do better tomorrow.
He always told himself that.
After he licked the last traces of sticky glaze from his fingers, he thought of him again—Ross.
The only boy who’d ever looked at him as if he were enough. The only one who’d wanted him just as he was—every last pound.
Ross would lick his lips and get hard simply because Jonah walked into the room and smiled at him. Then he’d pull him onto his lap, wrap his arms around his middle, and moan into his shoulder, pressing his hard cock against his ass.
Jonah had felt so sexy with him—curves, bulk, and all.
And just like every morning, of every day, Jonah wondered if he’d ever find that again—or if Ross had been his one shot at love.
Forty-Second Floor of the Bank of Tidewater
Lucas’s Office
Downtown Norfolk, Virginia
9:00 a.m.
It was nine in the morning, the market hadn’t even opened yet, and already his firm was bustling with phones ringing, assistants rushing, and the low roar of hundreds of deals in motion.
Lucas adjusted the cuffs of his freshly pressed suit as he strode toward the door, for his first of many meetings that day, when he spotted them at his secretary’s desk.
Detectives giving his petite, timid secretary a hard time.
They stood out like a sore thumb in his polished, steel-and-glass tower.
The guy leaned on his secretary’s counter, toothpick tucked in the corner of his mouth, eyes sweeping the place like he was casing it. The leather jacket, five o’clock shadow, and fuck-you attitude were probably designed to intimidate criminals.
Lucas was immune to intimidation.
Next to him stood—he assumed the guy’s partner—a woman in a bold deep-purple blazer cropped at the waist over a black mesh blouse with cobalt Doc Martins laced up her black tights.
Lucas had never seen a cop with green hair and multicolored dreadlocks, but there was a first time for everything.
Lucas opened his office door.
“Mr. Brewer, I told them you had a meeting, but they’re demanding to speak with you now,” his secretary said apologetically.
Lucas gave a slow smile and gestured for them to come into his office.
“I’m Detective Roz Kelly. This is my partner, Channing Sharpe.” They both flashed their badges. “We only have a few questions, Mr. Brewer. Shouldn’t take much of your time. I’m sure it’s valuable.”
“It is, so let’s make this quick. I’m already late for a meeting.”
Sharpe was the first to move, coming in but not bothering to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk like his partner. Instead, he began prowling Lucas’s office like a lion.
Lucas narrowed his eyes as Sharpe ran his hand over the glossy conference table, then strolled toward the wet bar and lifted a crystal decanter of bourbon, tilting it toward the light.
“Top-shelf stuff,” he muttered, shaking it so the amber liquid splashed around the bottle. “Funny how half the bottles are nearly gone. Rough life as a millionaire, huh, Mr. Brewer?”
Lucas leaned back in his leather chair, unbothered, legs crossed, and steepled his fingers.
“Not rough, no. Busy, yes.”
Kelly ignored her partner’s sarcasm, as if she were used to it, and flipped open her notebook.
Her voice was calm, professional. “Mr. Brewer, we’re investigating a potential homicide. I assume you know why I’m here since we saw Thorn Blackwell leaving your office this morning.”
Lucas smiled faintly. “Ask your questions.”
“How well do you know Thorn Blackwell?”
Lucas arched a brow. “I crossed his path for the first time a couple of weeks ago.”
“What’s the nature of your relationship?”
“We don’t have a relationship.”
Yet.
“Then why was he at your office at such odd hours?”
None of your fuckin’ business.
Lucas adjusted his cufflink before answering. “The hour wasn’t odd for me, detective.”
He was sure she realized he wasn’t directly answering her questions, but she didn’t miss a beat, and her pen didn’t stop moving.
“Witnesses say there was a confrontation between you and Mr. Blackwell. What was it about?”
Lucas kept his voice smooth and measured. He’d faced hostile boardrooms, determined executives, and had bent them all to his will. These petty-ass questions were nothing.