Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 57028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
That’s one heck of a resume. Next, he’ll be telling me he’s an astronaut. The funny thing is, I don’t doubt his story. He wasn’t bragging when he brought it up. It was more like the words exploded out of him, almost against his will.
Perversely, I hate thinking of him with other women. Models and actresses and whoever else threw themselves at his feet–they need to get in line. I run my hand through my hair, letting out a sigh. This line of thinking isn’t helpful.
He doesn’t want any of them, according to him. But I make him weak.
It shouldn’t make me feel special.
It doesn’t make me feel special. I correct myself, but I’m not convinced.
The jail broken phone buzzes from the bedside table. I dart at it far too eagerly. It’s a text from the man himself.
Dom: I’m looking at photos of your jewelry again. Did you make these from scratch? The work is admirable.
“Is he serious?” I whisper. My thumbs moved angrily over the phone’s keyboard.
Evie: So, we’re just going to pretend like earlier never happened, then. Talk about my silly hobby as if I’m not your prisoner. We’re going to chitchat, Mr. Kidnapper, Mr. Mafia Man, Mr. SEAL, Mr. Billionaire… is that your grand plan?
Dom:
I stare in disbelief at the screen for what feels like a long time. Everything that’s happened – the fight, the kidnapping, the imprisonment, the steam – and he sends a laughing emoji.
Two can play at that game.
Evie:
He sends two emojis as his counterattack.
Dom:
Evie: This is getting juvenile.
Dom: When I saw all my credentials listed, it seemed funny to me. I can’t help that.
Evie: Funny because it’s all a lie?
Dom: No – it’s the truth. But it’s ridiculous.
Evie: You’re in awe of your own brilliance?
Dom: Brilliance was never what got me anywhere, Keepsake. Just grit.
A smile touches my lips, but then I quickly banish it. Maybe he thinks he can trap me with his charm as much as in this physical prison. I can’t let that happen.
Evie: Did you just call me ‘Keepsake’?
Dom: It seems appropriate. First, because your passion for jewelry is clearly more than ‘a little hobby’. These pieces are of excellent quality. They’re keepsakes people would be proud to own or give as gifts. And secondly, because YOU’RE a keepsake.
Another smile – another banishment.
Evie: I am NOT your keepsake, Warden.
Dom: Warden?
Evie: As in… PRISON Warden.
I swear to God, if he texts me something about needing to keep me safe or any of that repetitive stuff, I’m going to scream until this prison collapses around me.
Dom: When did you start making jewelry?
I look up at Meatball, half hoping he’s awake. I need to do some serious venting. My body is still tingling all over from the intimacy. I press my legs together as if to tell myself, no, I won’t go there. My plan failed; it’s time to move on.
Evie: Stop pushing that point as if I’m some generational talent. I buy scrap metal online and do my best to hammer it into shape. It’s a fun little hobby, Warden.
Dom: You’re wrong, Keepsake. My only talent, the only reason I am where and who I am, is because I’m able to identify talent when I see it. That’s what my business is: finding the best TV personalities, the best podcasters, the best dealmakers, et cetera. You’ve got talent.
It’s like he’s turned the manipulation dial up to eleven. When we were together in person, I could use his attraction to me.
But now he’s hidden behind the shield of texting. I can’t touch him, kiss him, or stroke him to make him lose his cool.
Evie: Are you trying to manipulate me?
I type, but then I delete the message.
What’s he going to say – yes? He won’t admit to it even if he is, which he’s definitely doing. Maybe I need to go along with this. If I indulge this line of questioning, I can make him believe we’re building a rapport, then use it against him when the time comes.
I finally reply.
Evie: Thanks.
Dom: Do you sell your pieces?
Evie: I used to have an online store, but I wasn’t able to sell much. Apparently, the rest of the world didn’t see what you see.
Dom: Or you needed more investment in advertising and infrastructure. I could give you that.
I squeeze my hand around the phone, almost tossing it across the room in frustration. He’s offering me something I desperately wanted once upon a time. After Mom died, after I ran from The Vultures and tried to get a store started, I would’ve leapt at this chance.
Evie: I’m not going to let you buy me, Warden.
Dom: This has nothing to do with your perception of what I’ve done to you. This is about your talent.
Evie: Please, stop. My ‘perception’ is that I’m your prisoner and you’re trying to mess with my head.