Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
And thinking about the way Miranda treated her makes me clench my fist around the pen I’m holding. I may indeed have a type. But a beautiful woman easily sways a man, and there is no denying that Little Miss Hurricane is a stunning woman, with an amazing ass.
“Dinner tonight?” Maya asks as she walks into my office. I drop the pen onto my desk with more force than necessary and look up, jaw tightly clenched.
“You need to get a job,” I tell her. She gasps, her eyes going wide. “I’ll get HR to find you one.”
“Why?” She looks at me as if I just killed her favorite memory.
I shake my head and stand. “Because I’m not your husband, Maya. I am your brother. I won’t continue to support you. It’s time to get a job and stand on your own two feet. I will supply you with the tools necessary to do so.”
“I don’t want to work, Soren,” she whines. My eyes narrow, and then she adds, “I have so many hospital appointments, no job would like that.”
“I know when all your appointments are, and they won’t be an issue.” I wave her off.
She looks at me as if she doesn’t know who I am. Her forehead creases, and she takes a step back. “You don’t love me anymore?”
“You know I care for you, Maya, but you need to learn to support yourself.”
I call my assistant and ask her to join us. Layla walks in, and I wave my hand at my sister. “Find her a job.”
Layla nods and then turns to Maya.
“It better pay well, and I’m not working too many hours,” Maya says as she follows Layla out.
I sigh, knowing I’m a big part of the reason she is the way she is. I’ve always enabled her, and I am man enough to admit it. Still, there’s only so much restraint a man like me has, and lately, mine’s been fraying.
Beneath my calm veneer, the hunger claws at me, quiet, patient, waiting.
A fight in the ring. The sharp edge of a knife. The spill of blood. The only things that ever clear my head.
I push the thought down. For now.
Fuck. Now I have to clean up my own mess.
“Sir, you have a call on line one,” Layla tells me.
I don’t bother asking who it is as I pick up, and my back immediately straightens at Cressida’s voice on the other end of the line.
“I’m outside your building, Soren. Care to let me in?”
ELEVEN
CRESSIDA
Walking into an office building like this isn’t as easy as getting into an event. You need an invite, one I clearly don’t have. So, here I am, stuck at the security checkpoint, with the guards giving me that “you don’t belong here” look, unable to go through. I don’t expect him to pick up when I call, but he does. A few words later, the gates buzz, and just like that, I am allowed in.
I’m escorted up in the elevator to the highest floor. When the doors part, I see a woman sitting at a desk in the lobby. She looks up from her computer and offers me a tight smile as she stands. She greets me, and tells me her name before leading me to his door and holding it open for me to enter.
I’m used to dealing with people who have money. Noah’s family has a lot of it, so it doesn’t intimidate me in the slightest. I make a decent wage doing what I do—enough to afford my own place to live and take care of my son. But Soren is on a completely different level. He looks like money—old money. He basically stinks of it. And from all my research, I know he comes from a powerful and wealthy family that somehow lost it all.
His gaze drags up and down my body, as if he’s assessing what I’m wearing today. I let him because I couldn’t care less what he thinks of my purple blouse and my tight black pants. That’s a lie. A part of me hopes he at least thinks I look good.
“What a surprise,” he says as he stands and rounds his desk. “Close the door on your way out, Layla, and cancel any meetings until I’m done with my guest.” When he’s finished with her instructions, he turns his attention back to me. “Take a seat, Miss Knight.”
“I have a first name,” I say, clutching my bag as I sit on one of the two dark-gray couches positioned off to the side of his desk.
Soren moves over to a sideboard, where crystal decanters and matching rocks glasses gleam under the light. He drops a few chunks of ice into one of the glasses, the sound sharp in the quiet room, then glances over his shoulder at me.