Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
He was trying to intimidate me, for sure.
Too bad for him I liked it—I mean, too bad for him I’m not easily scared.
Were the stairs to the left or to the right here?
I take a punt and find of the hallway as I slip through the door (which doesn’t look like a door at all) which leads to the servant’s staircase. Of course someone as egotistical as him would have a staircase for the help, I think as I hurry upward. He’s probably the type who never wants to set his eyes on the domestic helpers, that ice-cold, egotistical, arrogant, heavenly smelling, pussy-dominating, good for nothing… urgh!
Did I really use the word sexpert?
My bare feet angrily slap the steps as I climb the ugly staircase in a house that’s otherwise picture-book perfect in the Parisienne style. Cream colored stone and tall windows with wrought iron balconies. Ornate crown molding and ceiling roses, marble floors and turkey carpets. This family is old money, and it shows.
Upstairs, I glance over my shoulder, then right the wedgie that’s been annoying me since the pool. Bloody Lavender. She must’ve swapped out my one-piece for this stupid bikini. Not only is it so high-cut its wedgie inducing, but the puny triangles on string barely contain my boobs.
Sadly, I didn’t notice the swap until Sylvie pulled the stretchy red fabric out of my bag after insisting on showing me to my room and then helping me to unpack.
It’s how we’d ended up at the pool.
Cut to an hour later when her father’s eyes sliced hotly my way. I felt flames lick at my skin, and the pull of lust deep in my core. I mean, obviously, I’m an idiot, because he was quick to remind me that first impressions do indeed count.
By the time he’d practically frog-marched me to his office, that fiery feeling had turned from a bush fire (if you get what I mean) to a red-hot poker-prodding rage.
I felt as un-Primrose-like as I’ve ever felt. I usually swallow my anger, even when it feels so huge I think it might choke, but not today. Today I chose violence! Verbal violence, at least, because I don’t believe in causing actual hurt. Even if some people deserve it.
Honestly, he’s lucky he’s not wearing the Basquiat as a collar.
I press my hand to my mouth, laughter threatening to burst out of me like gunfire. God, it felt like an out-of-body-experience. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. The higher handed he got, the more incensed I became, and the more I wanted to goad him—and I did! But he deserved it for a dozen reasons. For last night. For the things he assumed about my bestie. For treating me like a pleb. And for marching me into his office like he’d caught me smuggling out the family silver in my bra! But most of all, he deserved it for pushing me out of that door.
I mean, why? I don’t get it. He seemed so into me. The way he’d kissed me, the way he touched me. The noises he made as he buried his tongue in my—
No, brain. Cease and desist! We’re not thinking about any of that. The man is now my enemy, and he shall pay!
I growl—no, really, clenched fists and everything—because there is no way I’ll allow him to drag Em into this. She doesn’t deserve to be fired just because… because what? Because he’s embarrassed about last night? Because he doesn’t want anyone to know he was there. Because I said the wrong thing, because I’m inexperienced.
Because he wanted a woman, just not me.
I push out a deep breath. What the hell gives him the right to decide I’m not unworthy of an explanation? Oh, that’s right. He’s just another rich arsehole who thinks his piles of cash put him closer to God.
My brother is rich—he started his own bank. I mean, he doesn’t have a Picasso hanging in his home office, but he is extremely wealthy. And he’s still human. Sort of.
I could get Em a job with a way nicer employer, but I’m aware that needs to be her choice. Meanwhile, she entrusted me with her livelihood, and I’m not going to let anything ruin it.
I mean, I’m not going to do anything else to ruin it.
Screw him for giving me the best orgasm of my life. Screw him for pushing me into the alley like yesterday’s trash. And screw him for continuing to treat me in the same vein!
Also, let’s not actually screw him.
Even he did make my skin feel alive when he loomed over me.
What’s wrong with me? I think with a frown. He called me a wallflower. He’s not wrong, but he didn’t mean it as a compliment!
“I hope he gets a crick in his dick,” I mutter as I stomp along the hallway. I turn the corner and—“Oh!” Startled, I almost drop my towel.