Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 95049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take my dinner to my room so I can figure out how not to fail out of school my senior year and be forced to marry a rich man like my mom did and rely on him for everything.”
I start to walk away when Lorenzo’s voice stops me. “Online classes.”
“What?”
“Take your classes online.”
Oh my God. Why didn’t I think of that?
I’ve been so caught up in the stress of everything that’s going on, I wasn’t thinking clearly.
“Thank you.”
He nods, clearly dismissing me, and I see myself out.
An hour later, all my classes have been switched from in-person to online, and my scholarship is no longer at risk. Since I’m hoping this whole thing gets resolved sooner rather than later, I keep my apartment as is so it’s there when it’s time for me to go back to school, and I pay for the meal plan that’s required since I live on campus.
And then I text my boss at the pub I work at and Kora, the designer I intern for, letting them know there’s been a family emergency and I won’t be back when I thought I’d be.
Of course, both say they’ll have to replace me, needing someone to fulfill the jobs I was responsible for.
I’m checking out my new classes and the online platform when there’s a knock on my door.
“Come in.”
Lorenzo opens the door, and in his hand is a plate of spaghetti and meatballs with the fluffiest garlic bread I’ve ever seen.
“There were leftovers,” he grumbles, setting the plate on the edge of the dresser and then backing out and closing the door behind him before I can even say thank you.
I stare at the food for about three seconds before I jump out of the bed and grab the plate, taking it out to the terrace to eat.
He might be a grump, but, damn, he’s a good cook.
10
Lorenzo
“I was thinking we could get out of here.” Vanessa runs her fingers along the top of my forearm, and goose bumps prickle my skin.
“I already told you that I don’t do one-night stands,” I choke out, really wishing I did because it’s been too fucking long and the woman is beautiful.
“I know,” she says. “But we can still get out of here.”
I stand, and my body sways slightly.
“Here,” she says, standing and gripping my elbow, “let me help you.”
I jolt awake, a flashback from the other night hitting me. I’ve been struggling to remember how everything went down the night Vanessa and I got married.
She drugged me.
Then seduced me.
And when I reminded her that I didn’t do one-night stands, she married me?
It doesn’t make any sense. She didn’t need to marry me to get rid of her virginity …
“Dada!” Leo yells through the baby monitor, pushing all thoughts of Vanessa aside.
I take a quick piss and then head inside Leo’s room to change his diaper and get him dressed for the day. I usually make it a point to be up and ready before he wakes up, but since I slept through my alarm this morning, I bring him into the bathroom with me, setting up his chair so he’s safe while I shower and get ready.
I have a meeting this morning, but since I still don’t have a nanny, I insisted it’d be done via video. So, I throw on a suit, wanting to keep it professional and set a good precedent for my team, and make our breakfast. Leo gets oatmeal with fruit, followed by a bottle, and I make myself bacon and eggs with toast with a side of caffeine.
Once we’re both fed and the dishes are done, I set Leo inside his play yard with his toys so I can get through this meeting.
I’m setting up my video conference on the laptop when my phone rings.
“Mr. Russo,” Ronald, one of the doormen, says. “The courier is here with a certified letter that requires your signature.”
I glance at Leo just as Vanessa appears in the doorway. With her brown hair up in a messy bun, her slim neck is on display. My gaze descends to the bright yellow tank top she’s wearing that reads I love talking to myself. She gets me.
With the words written across her chest, my eyes go to the swells of her breasts and then naturally slide down the front of her body, over her flat stomach—where a hint of skin peeks out from the bottom of her tank, matching her tiny yellow cotton shorts—before stopping at her long, toned legs. She must be a good five foot seven, maybe eight, and all fucking legs. I imagine them wrapped around my neck as my face delves into her cunt and—
“I can watch him,” she offers, snapping me out of my absurd fantasy and forcing my eyes to ascend back up to hers, which I note are twinkling with mirth.