Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Oh, yeah. Hi.” I discreetly swipe at my mouth for any stray crumbs. “Nice to meet you.”
“You’re working on that Canon Holt biopic, aren’t you?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I run a suddenly sweaty palm over the slinky material covering my hip.
Is this dress too revealing? Does it say serious writer whom you should definitely work with someday?
“I’m hearing great things about it,” Peter says before turning back to Desiree. “Can I steal you for a second? There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Um, sure.” Desiree glances at me, brows knit. She knows I hate parties. “Will you be—”
“I’m fine.” I give her a gentle nudge. “I’m gonna mingle for a bit. Grab me when you’re ready to go.”
Desiree’s face brightens and she follows Peter, flashing me a quick grin over her shoulder as she goes.
“Mingle, my ass,” I mutter, dropping the smile and kicking off my shoes as soon as they leave. I lean against the wall and my hand strays to the neckline of my dress where I’ve pinned the small heart pendant Mama was wearing the night I lost her. As one of her few belongings salvaged from the fire, it holds tremendous sentimental value, but it has also become my talisman when depression encroaches. I stroke the sharp point and the rounded edges, letting it ground me. This unassuming trinket is an anchor that helps me stay present when my mind wants to wander in social situations.
“Wow, Verity,” a guy drawls from beside me. “You look even better than the last time I saw you. Didn’t think that was possible, but I guess winning a Golden Globe does lend a certain glow. Congrats, by the way.”
Tall, with dark hair, blue eyes, and too-white smile, he presses one shoulder into the wall I’m slumped against, his heated stare roving over my body in the fitted dress, lingering on the skin exposed by the low-cut bodice. I squint at him, taking in his athletic build in well-tailored slacks and sports coat. He looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t be sure.
“Um, thanks,” I reply cautiously. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”
The too-white smile dies and he straightens, his expression outraged.
“Are you serious?” He scowls.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, injecting as much sincerity into the apology as I can. “I meet a lot of people and—”
“And I guess you fuck a lot of people?” he snaps, his tone turning nasty. “You fuck so many guys, you forget their faces?”
“Actually, I usually prefer fucking girls, so not that many men make the cut. For me to not remember you when there are so few…” I shrug and sip my ginger ale. “You don’t happen to have a very small dick, do you?”
“Bitch,” he snarls. “I don’t care if you won ten Golden Globes, you don’t talk to me like that.”
“I’d be fine not talking to you at all. You’re the one who came over here like I’m supposed to recognize your dick on sight.”
“Your pussy wasn’t that good anyway.”
If I’m having this much trouble placing him, I was either drunk or manic when we slept together—possibly both. I rarely drink, so I’m guessing it was the former, and manic, I’m a spectacular lay.
“Now I know you lying.” I bark out a laugh. “You must not know good pussy when you get it. Fuck off.”
He takes a step forward that would be menacing if I found insecure limp-dicked narcissists even vaguely intimidating. “If you think—”
“Hey,” someone interjects from behind me. “She said fuck off.”
I freeze because I’d know that voice whispering in a tornado. I turn and meet Monk’s gaze. There’s no humor. No anger. Just cool indifference when he looks at me. A warning when he shifts his eyes to Mr. Forgettable Dick. The stranger I apparently slept with finally gets the message and stalks off, grumbling under his breath as he’s swallowed by the crowd of well-dressed partygoers.
“You’ve probably ruined him for all Black women,” Monk deadpans.
“Sisters everywhere should thank me.”
“Do you really not remember sleeping with him?” Monk leans a shoulder against the wall, assessing me with fresh eyes. Or maybe judging me with old ones.
“No,” I answer honestly without further explanation. Let him think I’m a whore. He wouldn’t believe me if I tried to convince him otherwise. “I’ll take his word for it.”
He nods and shrugs as if it’s none of his business. As if I’m none of his business, which I’m not. Some girl he dated for a few months in college and who cheated on him. Why would he care?
He glances in the direction of the guy who just lumbered off. “Still breaking hearts I see.”
“I don’t break hearts. No one gets that close.”
His eyes shift back to me, probing and somber.
I did. I can almost see the words curling in a cloud over his head.
“What’d you think of the movie?” he asks, tipping his chin to acknowledge someone who waves at him across the room.