Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
The bar, drinking, I think.
That’s okay. Dash is worried about his drinking. It’s not the answer.
I don’t give myself time to talk myself out of my next move. I unload all of my stuff, even my purse, and exit my suite. I’m going to find Tyler.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Tyler
What the hell is Bella doing to me? I have never wanted a woman more than I want her and yet I just walked away. Because I’m trying to do right by her.
I enter the bar and eye the clusterfuck of random leather booths and wooden tables. I have no idea why Hollywood favors this place. Everything is too close together for privacy and forces an intimacy that I for one, don’t want when I’m in hardcore negotiations. Tonight though, the place is dead, and I slide into a booth with an empty chair across from me.
The pretty blonde waitress is quick to appear by my table and I decide it’s an expensive whiskey kind of night. “McCallan 25. Just bring the bottle and no, I don’t care how much it costs.”
“No problem, sir,” she says, smiling a flirty little smile. “Coming right up.” She sashays away and I don’t give her another look. There is only one woman on my mind right now, or at any time as of late. The honest-to-God truth of the matter is I always had a thing for Bella, which is why I was careful with her. It’s why I always made sure I traveled separately from her, but not this time. I knew the dangers of us being together and I convinced myself commercial travel was all the barrier we needed between us.
The waitress sets the bottle on the table. “I didn’t know if you wanted ice or no ice, so I brought you two glasses. I can pour for you.”
“I got it. Thanks.” I dismiss her because I need to be clear. No is the answer. Sure, I could take her to my room and fuck her blind, but I’d be thinking about Bella.
She walks away and I fill a glass, thinking about the call I’d had with Gavin. I’m going to have to pick a woman and wear her on my arm for the better part of a year. Hell, I may have to marry her. I pull up my phonebook and start scanning the names. I don’t even know if I like any of these women. I don’t spend that kind of time with any of them.
My cellphone rings and I retrieve it from my pocket to find Gavin on my caller ID again. “I hope this call has some fucking good news,” I answer.
“Can you talk?”
“Yeah,” I say, sipping from my glass, because I’m going to need the booze to handle this conversation. “I’m alone.”
“The only way you get out of this is going to court,” he states. “How impossible is that?”
“You read my father’s note. I go to court, and he ruins me and the firm. Everything I have lived for my entire life is ruined.”
“I read the case file your father used to threaten you. What’s the story?’
“My father withheld evidence and told me the clients threatened to kill us if he didn’t do it. Which, knowing what I know about the family in question, I believe.”
“Who’s the family?”
“The Allen family.”
“As in the family that owns half the state of Tennessee?”
“That would be them.”
He whistles. “Okay, well, that’s some power. I think you’re fucked. Do you have a woman in mind, because, man, I think you are going to have to marry her. Make sure you can tolerate her for at least nine months—six engaged and three married—which is the timeline your father set for a public display, and then give me a chance to have her checked out.”
There is only one woman I can more than tolerate. Bella, I think, but Dash would kill me, and I’d ruin her reputation. “I’ll get you a list. The one that checks out as the least likely to fuck me, and most likely to make my staff and clients feel secure is what matters.”
“Sorry, man. I’m going to continue to look for loopholes. I’ll draft the contracts for your “fake fiancée/bride” as well, for you to review. And the sooner you get the six months started, the sooner it’s over.
We disconnect and I down my drink.
If I don’t go upstairs and knock on Bella’s door now, while she will still open the door for me, I’ll never get another chance with her. Sweet, sexy, incredible Bella, who tastes like honey, and goes to war with me like a UFC fighter, all-in, and swinging. I want to go to her. It’s the wrong decision, I remind myself, and refill my glass. I have until this glass is empty to convince myself that’s still a bad decision. And it’s going to be a hard sell.