Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 115435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“Understood, sir.”
“Check in with me every hour.”
I hang up and walk back into the conference room. I want this day over so I can get back to my angel.
“Do you even know me? I love the hunt, and you know it.”
Fuck, I love that woman.
Chapter Twenty
BILLIE
Two things. One, I’ve never spent so much money in one day. And two, holy shit, shopping should be an Olympic sport because it is rigorous.
I’m exhausted after today’s gold medal performance, but Connor texted me thirty minutes ago to tell me he’s on his way back to his penthouse, and I’m making him dinner. I’m excited to go with him to Ireland so I can see his favorite things to eat firsthand, and maybe I can learn how to make some of them. But tonight, he’s getting spaghetti with salad and garlic knots, all from scratch except for the pasta. As of now, everything’s ready and just waiting for him to get back.
I whirl around when I hear the elevator ding, and when Connor walks through the doors, he looks … pissed. He’s scowling, every muscle in his impressive body tight, and the energy is intense.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Hold on, angel,” he says, holding up a finger as he dials his phone. “Get up here, now.”
He hangs up, slips his phone into his pocket, and pulls off his tie, tossing it on the couch. As he walks through the room, with those intense green eyes pinned on me, he unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt and rolls his sleeves. The frustration and anger are rolling off him in waves.
I’ve never seen him like this. I’m not afraid of him, but I’m worried about him.
“It smells good in here,” he says. His voice is rough but gentle because he’s speaking to me, but something is not right.
“I made dinner. What’s going on, billionaire?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He kisses my forehead, then the elevator doors open, and Simon strides inside. His face is impassive, showing no emotion, but his hands are in fists, displaying the tension he’s feeling.
What in the world is going on?
“My office,” Connor says, setting off down the hall, and Simon follows him.
I spent all day with Simon. He’s a handsome guy in his mid-thirties, built like a professional wrestler, with tattoos all over the place, even down his fingers and up his neck to his jawline. He doesn’t ever smile, and I tried hard to get him to grin at me.
He never did.
Simon’s kind of scary.
But he was also kind to me, and I’m worried he’s in trouble. So I do what any curious person would do, and I walk down the hall to eavesdrop.
Connor should have shut the door behind him if he didn’t want me to hear this.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Connor barks, his voice menacing. I’ve never heard that tone from him, and I don’t think I ever want it directed at me.
“Miss Blackwell asked me to drop her off so she could shop. She told me not to hover. My orders were to give her whatever she wanted, so that’s what I did.”
He’s in trouble because of me.
But he’s just a driver.
“Miller briefed you on everything going on, and you know you were hired as her personal security. If I want a driver for her, I’ll hire her a motherfucking driver. She’s the only bloody thing in this world that matters, and you dropped her off in Downtown New York City and parked around the goddamn corner?”
He continues to rail on Simon, completely unhinged, and I decide I’ve had enough and walk back to the kitchen.
She’s the only bloody thing in this world that matters.
Wow.
As I check and stir the sauce, I can still hear him yelling, and then things quiet, and the men walk through the penthouse again.
Simon nods at me before he calls for the elevator and leaves. Connor sighs, takes his glasses off to rub his eyes, and crosses to me.
He wraps his arms around me from behind and kisses my head as I turn the burner under the sauce way down and cover it with a lid.
“You had fun shopping today?”
I turn in his arms and blink up at him. “Are you kidding me right now?”
He scowls. “What are you talking about?”
“Okay, back up.” I scoot away from him so I can pace and breathe, pausing by the dining room table to take a sip of the wine I poured when I sat there with my new laptop, working earlier before he texted me. “You get home and immediately verbally beat the shit out of Simon, all because of me, and now you’re going to pretend that doesn’t matter?”
“You don’t need to worry about it.”
My eyebrows climb, and I take another sip of wine. Connor sighs, bracing his hands on his hips.