Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 88270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“For whatever reason, you’ve lit a fire under his ass. So, if she wants him back, then she shouldn’t be angry with you; she should be fucking grateful to you. You’ve done all the hard work for her. She just has to swan in and reap the benefits. As for you breaking your heart. So what if you break your heart? That’s what hearts are for. But the main thing is the experience. You’ve never felt like this about anyone. It’s special. So you should make the most of this experience in every way. Why don’t you indulge? It’s just for less than three months, and then you return to your normal life. No harm, no foul."
Her voice turns a bit playful to lighten the mood, like she always does when I'm overthinking. "Besides, if you keep fighting it, you’ll risk getting distracted, slipping up, making a mistake and blowing your cover. If I were you, I’d go for it. You know my motto, if life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Life has given you peaches and cherries, and you’re complaining. Come on, Jules. You fancy him like mad, take a bite. Heck, take a slice, or gorge as much as you possibly can, while you can. When you really think about it, you’ve got nothing to lose after all. I think you should live a little, babe. You've earned it after all the crap you've been through."
Her words sink in, stirring a mix of temptation and terror. The mud bath's warmth lulls me as I mull it over. The fig candles flicker lazily, while my heart pounds with the possibility of falling into the abyss called Blake Bessant.
"But what if I don't walk away unscathed? What if it messes me up for good?"
Emma shrugs, her grin turning mischievous. "Then you'll call me, and we'll eat ice cream and I’ll trash-talk him until you have no choice but to get over him. That's what best friends are for. Seriously, Jules, you've got this. Just enjoy the ride… literally.”
We both laugh then, and it eases the weight in my chest a little. She's always been my voice of reason, the one who pushes me out of my comfort zone, and as we soak in our mud bath and just chat as we have always done, I feel a shift.
Maybe indulging isn't the end of the world.
Maybe it's just what I need.
Chapter Thirty-One
BLAKE
Ican't stop thinking about her at work; the thoughts invade my mind like uninvited guests who then refuse to leave. No matter how hard I try to focus on the spreadsheets glaring back at me from my monitors in the office, it is no use. I wasn't even supposed to come in today. Saturdays are meant to be my day off. Time to unravel, but here I am, staring at the damn Tokyo deal again.
Another image of her teases me—writhing and moaning on the dining table. The taste of her still haunts my tongue. In a way, I can’t believe what’s going on with me. At least two years of not even wanting to touch her, and now I can’t get enough. She's under my skin. My cock stiffens at the memory of her heat, her surrender. I rub my temples and try to shake the image off, but it's no use. She comes into the quiet spaces between emails. My fingers itch to text her, to ask if she's thinking about last night too.
It is a Saturday, and the usual bustle of the Bessant headquarters in Midtown is reduced to a skeleton crew. The hum of the printer down the hall and the distant ring of a phone are the only sounds breaking the silence.
Damn it. I shouldn’t be here either. Tokyo can wait until Monday.
The city’s skyline is starting to fade in my rearview when my phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with an urgent email from the team. A regulatory snag. The Japanese are threatening to pull out over some bullshit compliance issue with EU emissions standards. Our lawyers swear we flagged it weeks ago. It's an emergency, the kind that demands immediate attention. Great, I’ll have to deal with them head-on, holed up in the boardroom with my legal team. Slamming on the brakes at a red light, my jaw clenching as I U-turn back toward the office. The leather steering wheel creaks under my white-knuckled grip.
Three sharp-suited attorneys are pouring over clauses on the long conference table, laptops open to red-lined contracts. The scent of stale coffee hovers in the air. They're dissecting the EU regs line by line, arguing over legal interpretations.
I join them.
Hours drag by. My phone sits silent on the table except for the occasional ping of work updates. I’m desperate to hear her voice. I'm seething inside. I should be home. Instead, I'm trapped here, frustration mounting like a storm inside me.