Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
That was it. No closure. No goodbye. I just get hustled out to the helipad by the guy who seems to despise me, and then I’m back in the city in time for pumpkin pie with my mom and brother.
Apparently, as soon as the storm cleared, it was time for “the help” to leave.
I haven’t heard a word from Brick–or maybe I should go back to thinking of him as Blackthroat–since.
I really need to talk to Aubrey. We’ve texted, but I need a full convo with the bestie. I pick up my phone and call.
“Oh my God, girl, tell me everything!” That’s how she answers. Because my short texts–I didn’t quit and Slept with the boss–were not nearly enough information. She and her mom are in New Jersey with her aunt and uncle for the holiday.
“Ugh. I don’t know where to start.”
Aubrey instantly sobers. “Wait, I thought things were good. What happened?”
Tears sting the back of my eyes. “They were good.” The memory of Brick spooning me to warm my body, apologizing, and the mad, crazy sex flood my brain with remembered pleasure. But then there was getting sent home without so much as a goodbye. “So I texted you about me getting lost in the storm and the sexy times.”
“Right.”
“And then I stayed for Thanksgiving dinner, which was weird and awkward, but not because of me–at least I don’t think. Because Brick and his mom don’t get along, and his sister invited her. Supposedly he was a dick to me partly because he didn’t want me to see his fucked up family.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Yeah. But then right after Thanksgiving dinner, he and all his dude-bros go outside and talk, and then he disappears. The next thing I know, Billy White comes in and says the weather cleared enough to get me home for Thanksgiving, but I had to leave right then.”
“Okay.”
“I asked where Brick was, but he said he’d gone for a run, which was obviously a lie because who goes for a run in the dark with a full stomach when it’s freezing out?”
“Oh, shit.”
“I know.”
“So what did you do?”
“So I left! I mean, I obviously didn’t belong there. Clearly they didn’t want me there, or they wouldn’t be rushing me off.”
“Or maybe they just thought you wanted to spend Thanksgiving with your own family and were trying to get you there considering you’d already sacrificed most of your holiday for work.”
Huh. Aubrey, the voice of reason.
“Yeah, maybe.” I know I can be touchy about the class-difference thing. Did I make it all up?
No, I don’t think so. But now I’m not sure.
“So how was the sex?” Aubrey puts a suggestive purr in her voice, steering me back to the good part.
“Ah-mazing. Insane. Incredible.”
“So you got something out of it. That’s good.”
“I did…but I don’t think I should do it again.”
“Why not?”
“It feels too dangerous. I don’t want to catch feelings because I already know how these things end.”
“Wait, whoa. What does that mean?”
“I mean there’s no way I’m ever going to actually end up with a guy like Brick Blackthroat. People may dally outside their social strata, but that’s all it is. A dalliance.”
“So you’re saying because you’re not going to marry this guy, you can’t enjoy some hot sex and helicopter rides?”
Something twists beneath my ribs. I don’t want to give up any of it.
But I have to. It would only end in disaster. And I’m not the type to take risks when I know they won’t pay off.
“No more sex with the boss,” I say firmly.
“Okay,” Aubrey agrees. “I say you keep torturing him. Wear the dresses and withhold sex. He’ll go nuts.”
Somehow, that doesn’t feel right either.
I don’t want to withhold anything from Brick Blackthroat.
But that is my most dangerous thought of all.
I end the call with Aubrey and throw on a robe to pad out to the kitchen where my mom and Brayden are demolishing the Sunday crossword. I stand over their shoulders, offering answers to the remaining clues.
“Bruh, it’s no fun when you’re around,” Brayden grumbles. “Between you and Mom, it goes too fast.”
My mom, who has a PhD in literature, kicks butt at the New York Times crosswords, but Brayden and I can hold our own. I guess all of us enjoy a challenge.
“What was the Blackthroat estate like?” Brayden asks between bites of leftover pecan pie.
“I didn’t see the property because of the blizzard, but the cottage was built in the Gilded Age. It’s a forty-four room mansion with giant stone fireplaces and ornate carved wood trim.” I got some of those details from Brick’s mom, Catherine, when we chatted in the living room.
My mom’s lips turn down with judgment. Sometimes I forget where I get my love-hate relationship with money. My mom is one of those people, like Aubrey, who believe all rich people are greedy, environment-destroying, anti-socialist assholes who make their money by stomping on the backs of the underprivileged. I know her relationship with my biological father contributed greatly to that view.