Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
"Reality being?"
"That I'm now CEO of Ashton Collective, whether I'm ready or not."
"You're ready." The certainty in his voice makes something warm unfurl in my chest. "You've known the business inside and out since you were a teenager. You casually listened to your father make crucial decisions and close multi-million-dollar deals. You are not new to this."
He rests my hand on my lap and squeezes my knee.
Before I can open my mouth, my phone pings with another text from Aunt Patricia.
Table is ready. Don't be late.
I sigh and turn my gaze out the window. Being with Cole feels like existing in a bubble. Just us, safe and certain. The moment I step into that restaurant, I'll be facing everything I've been avoiding: my new responsibilities and my family's expectations.
When Cole stops at a red light, his hand drops from the wheel to rest on the console between us. I stare at it—those strong fingers, the hint of scars across his knuckles. Without thinking, I brush my fingertips against his and trace the veins with my finger, up to his forearm.
His sharp inhale fills the car.
"Meredith—"
"What? You kissed my hand. I'm just touching you."
"Yeah, well, you touching me first sends my brain into overdrive."
"So you don't like it? When I do the first move?"
"I didn't say that."
We don't need to say more. There's a line we crossed yesterday, and now we're in uncharted territory.
The light turns green. Cole reluctantly returns his hand to the wheel, but I feel the ghost of his touch on my skin for the next ten blocks.
When we pull up to the restaurant, Cole circles around to open my door. This time, when his hand settles on the small of my back, it lingers. Heat radiates through my blouse, and I not so subtly lean into it.
"Ready?" he asks.
I nod, though I'm anything but. Aunt Patricia's lectures are the last thing I want to deal with today, especially when all I can think about is Cole's mouth, Cole's hands, Cole's—
"I think that's her," Cole says, nodding toward the restaurant entrance.
I scan the crowd but don't see her. "Where?"
"Table by the window. She's not—" Cole stops abruptly, his entire body tensing beside me.
That's when I see him. Not Aunt Patricia.
Brian Percy.
What the hell?
My stomach plummets. He's sitting alone at a table near the window, scrolling through his phone with a bored expression. His hair is slicked back, probably with so many styling products that it won't budge even if the ceiling caved in and fell on his head. He's wearing designer from head to toe, and it's absurdly tacky. Mismatched.
"She set me up," I tell Cole through gritted teeth.
Cole's hand tightens on my back. "We can leave. Right now."
For a moment, I'm tempted. But if I run now, what will happen tomorrow? And the day after that? How long before they wear me down?
They won't stop … not until I tell them to.
"No," I say, squaring my shoulders. "Let's get this over with."
"You're stronger than you think. You know that, right?"
"But if he pisses me off?"
"I could clock his jaw … or you could do the honors."
As we approach, Brian looks up and spots me. His face transforms into a practiced smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He stands, buttoning his tailored jacket with a flourish.
Everything he does is dramatic, and his entire personality (at least the public one) is fabricated.
"Meredith! Finally. Your aunt said you might be a bit nervous, but don't worry, I'm here to help."
His tone makes my skin crawl. Like he's doing me a favor by being here. Like I should be grateful for his attention.
God, he thinks so much of himself.
Brian's eyes slide right past Cole as if he doesn't exist. He pulls out my chair with a theatrical gesture and waits for me to sit. I do, because it's what I've always done—follow the social script, always being polite even when I want to scream.
Cole positions himself a few feet away, back to the wall, face impassive. But I can see a muscle ticking in his jaw.
"You look..." Brian pauses, eyes skimming over me with barely concealed disappointment. "...nice. That blouse is a bit matronly, but we can work on your style."
I press a tooth into my lip to keep from responding. He really hasn't changed at all. Every time we see each other, he always has something awful to say.
Brian doesn't seem to notice my tense expression or my glare as he launches into a monologue about himself. His latest acquisition at Percy Media. The celebrities who attended his party last month. The new yacht he's considering purchasing. The latest addition to his car collection.
Boring, boring, boring.
When the waiter approaches, Brian barely pauses for breath.
"I'll have the ribeye, medium rare, with the truffle mashed potatoes," he says, not bothering to look at the server. Then he gestures toward me. "She'll have the salad with dressing on the side. Watching that figure, right?"