Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
I nodded as she spoke, letting her encouraging, kind words sink in. Maybe she was right. Maybe all we needed was one time to slake four years of starvation for the other, then we’d be able to settle down and move on.
And yeah, I needed to stop torturing myself over what Cormac thought of me—especially after I’d tried countless times to show him the last thing I wanted to do was hurt him.
“I love you,” I said. “You know that?”
Grace smiled. “Of course you do,” she said. “I love you too.”
“You really think being direct and straightforward is the way to go?”
She nodded. “Make it a business deal. A one-time sex contract,” she teased.
I laughed but shrugged. “I’m pretty good at business deals.”
“Yep,” she agreed. “Are you going to do it?”
Anticipation swelled in my chest, my blood rushing with need. “I think so.”
Grace clapped. “Yay!” She furrowed her brow. “Can we eat first?”
I nodded. “Definitely.”
The entire lunch, I couldn’t stop my mind from racing. By the time we were finished and I was heading back to the office, I was ready to call Cormac and present the offer to him.
Not the Silhouette offer, but mine.
Because Grace was right—it was time for me to take my last shot with Cormac. He’d either accept it, or he’d shut me down like he had countless times since I came back into his life.
And I didn’t have a clue which prospect was more terrifying.
But I knew there was only one way to find out.
9
Cormac
Bristol laughed at something the tuxed-up guy on her right said, and my left eye twitched. Who the hell was he? A donor? An investor? What had he said that was that damned funny?
Damn, she looked good enough to eat tonight. Her dress was strapless, leaving her shoulders bare, and I would have bet a year’s salary that the emerald green gown made her hazel eyes lean toward that shamrock shade.
“Earth. To. Briggs.” Sterling tapped my shoulder, and I whipped my head in his direction to find both him and Brogan staring at me like I’d grown another head.
“What?” I snapped, yanking at the collar on my shirt. Logically, I knew it fit—Bristol had it custom-tailored to me since it was her design, but the shit felt tight. My entire body felt tight and had since I’d seen her in New York last week.
“Are you okay?” Sterling asked, knitting his eyebrows. “Because you’re staring at that guy like you’re about to take him apart?”
“Fine,” I answered, throwing back the last of my ginger ale and wishing it was something a hell of a lot more alcoholic.
“You’d think you’d be a little more relaxed after beating the shit out of Los Angeles this afternoon,” Brogan added, a corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “But I can see why you might still be a little high-strung.”
Bristol laughed again, and I wasn’t sure if the sound really carried that far across the ballroom or if my mind was just playing tricks on me.
“Is he a fucking comedian?” I grumbled, raking my hand over my hair.
Chill. She’s allowed to talk to or flirt with whoever the hell she wants.
The sane, reasonable part of my brain was doing its best Gandhi impression.
Fuck. That. The primal, possessive side of me was going all caveman. Awesome.
“You could just go talk to her,” Sterling suggested, taking a glass of champagne from the waiter as he made his rounds.
“Talk to who?” Maxim asked, joining us with his arm wrapped around not one—but two women’s waists.
“None of your business,” I barked.
“Someone needs to get laid.” He scoffed, then glanced across the ballroom. “Oh shit, you and McClaren?”
“I would leave that subject alone if I were you,” Brogan warned, but the asshat was still smirking.
“Seriously, you’ve been glaring at every guy she’s talked to for the last two hours, and she’s looked over here so often I’m starting to think her head might permanently swivel to the left,” Sterling noted.
Bristol reached into her clutch and took out a card, handing it to the guy.
Is she giving him her damned number? Ice raced through my veins. I was losing it. “I need a damned drink,” I said, turning for the bar.
Something wet and cold splashed all over my chest, soaking through my shirt in an instant and turning the pristine white fabric a mottled shade of tan.
“Oops!” One of the women with Maxim slammed her hand over her mouth. “OhmigodI’msosorry,” she blurted from behind her fingers, the phrase turning into one long word.
“Damn,” Sterling muttered.
“Well, at least you have a drink now.” Maxim cringed.
“It’s okay,” I told the woman, then closed my eyes slowly and took a deep breath, counting to ten as I turned back around. When I opened them, Bristol was striding her way toward me, her mouth wide open.