Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
“I gotta go, Playboy,” I say. I exhale again and my tone shifts to complete sincerity. “Josh, seriously. It’d be too heartless, even for me, to blow off Cameron after how sweet he’s been to me. I can be a bitch, you should be warned, but not that big a bitch.”
Josh is silent on the line for a long beat. “Shit,” he finally says. “Okay. Then. Fuck. I guess I’ll see you next week, then.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
He exhales with resignation.
“Hey, make sure you get my email address from Sarah in the meantime.”
“Why?”
“So you can send me your Club application. It’s required reading before I’ll go out with you.”
He audibly rolls his eyes. “Not gonna happen.”
I laugh. “You’re used to getting whatever you want, when you want it, aren’t you?”
“Damn straight.”
“Well, guess what? So am I.”
He laughs. “Mmm hmm. Well, sucks to be you, Party Girl. I guess you’ve finally met your match.”
“Mmm hmm. We’ll see.”
He chuckles. “We’ll see.”
“Travel safe, Josh,” I say earnestly. “I gotta go have dinner with Cameron Schulz, the shortstop for the Mariners.” I wait a beat, but he doesn’t reply. “I hope to see you soon, Josh,” I add sincerely.
“Tell Cameron his batting average sucks dick right now and that whiff at the plate last night against the Yankees was a fucking embarrassment.”
“I’ll be sure not to tell him you said so.”
“Bye, Kat.”
“Bye, Josh. I’ll look forward to your email with your application attached.”
“Not a fucking chance, Party Girl. Not a fucking chance in hell.”
I laugh. “We’ll see about that.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.”
“I don’t need luck. I’ve got you right where I want you, Playboy.”
“Mmm hmm. I think it’s the other way around.”
“That’s what I want you to think.”
He laughs. “Sure thing, PG. Keep telling yourself that. Bye, Kat.”
“Bye, Josh.”
I hang up and turn off my phone. For a long beat, I stand in the chilly night air, staring at the traffic whizzing by on the street, my crotch throbbing mercilessly and my heart leaping out of my chest. He’s right. He’s got me right where he wants me—not the other way around—just like every other woman he burns through, I’m sure. Clearly, the man has his pick of every bisexual supermodel and starlet in Hollywood, and I can see why. Well, maybe I’m the first woman who’s gonna teach this Playboy that not all women will say “how high” when a rich, handsome, charismatic studmuffin like Josh Faraday commands, “Jump.”
After a moment, a wide smile spreads across my devious, bitchy, turned-on, intrigued, conniving little face. If Josh wants me, he’s gonna have to work for it—something he’s clearly not used to doing. I’m dying to read his frickin’ application, that’s true, but at this point, that stupid application is more than just an application to a sex club. It’s a brass ring. If this is gonna be a battle of wills, then I’m gonna be the one who wins it.
My smile widens.
Kat Morgan knows two things in this life: men and PR. And, by God, when it comes to Josh Faraday, victory will be mine. Along with his supremely bitable ass.
Nine
Kat
“Hey!” I shout, knocking on the door of Jonas and Sarah’s hotel suite. “Vegas, baby!” I begin pounding maniacally on the door like I’m the Energizer Bunny on speed, which is actually a perfect analogy because I feel high with excitement—out of my mind with unbridled glee. I’m in the Promised Land, baby! My own personal Mecca! And on Jonas’ generous dime, no less. Ha! My hotel room is freaking spectacular—I could never in a million years afford to stay in a hotel like this on my own—plus, as Josh would say, I’m free at last, I’m free at last, thank God almighty, I’m finally free at last of my round-the-clock bodyguards (with Jonas’ permission). Who knew having two grumpy old guys trail your every move for a week and a half could become so freaking suffocating? No wonder Whitney finally fucked Kevin—she just needed to de-stress from having some grouchy guy following her around twenty-four-seven.
And the most exciting thing of all? Sarah’s finally feeling back to her old self again, and then some. When Sarah called yesterday to say, “Pack your bags for Vegas, Kitty Kat—we’re going Ocean’s Eleven on The Club’s motherfucking ass!” I practically peed my pants.
“I’m in!” I shrieked (even though I had absolutely no idea how I could possibly contribute a damned thing to going Ocean’s Eleven on The Club’s motherfucking ass).
“Woot!” Sarah replied.
“Woot!” I shouted back.
“Will it be just you, me, and Jonas?” I asked, trying to sound breezy and nonchalant.
“Who else would be joining us?” Sarah asked coyly.
“Oh, I dunno,” I answered. “No one in particular. Just wondering.”
Sarah laughed. “Well, a certain hacker will be joining us, if that’s who you’re referring to,” Sarah said, teasing me.