Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Finally, it’s the end of the day. Should I take my painting stuff home? I can’t use the office as my painting studio forever. Now that Lyle and his wife are gone—I silently wish her luck—there’s no reason to hang around, is there?
What about Dimitri?
Ah, there’s that voice. That silly, immature, optimistic voice needs to grow the hell up. It’s the voice that tells me a Prince Charming is going to ride into my life and make everything better. Clearly, the fantasy novel has gotten to me today.
“I was wondering when you’d turn up,” Dimitri says when I walk into the half-finished office.
Dimitri is sitting on a chair that wasn’t there before, that same smirk on his face. He looks tired, but somehow, it makes him more handsome, like a wolf ready for the hunt. Beside him, there’s a large A-frame easel that looks like it cost at least a hundred bucks. There’s also an extensive collection of paints, brushes, pencils, and paper.
“I didn’t know what kind to get,” he says in an intense, husky voice.
I approach the display, feeling like a kid inside a candy store on Christmas morning, which also happens to be their birthday. There are expensive jars of tempera paint, tubes of gouache, even smaller jars of oil, and some acrylic. I laugh as I pick up the can of spray paint. “Won’t you be mad if I graffiti your new office?”
His smirk and the new brightness in his icy eyes are playing many tricks on me.
“I figured I could have this stuff moved to your apartment,” he says. “Hopefully, it’ll be quieter now.”
I put the spray paint down, looking at him closely. He looks… proud? It’s silly to think I could read him. He’s a CEO, a millionaire, if not a billionaire. He’s almost twice my age—online, it says he is forty, and I’m twenty-two—but I’m sure I’m seeing this right.
“Was that you?” I say.
“You deserve a peaceful place to live,” he tells me. “Although that apartment is a rundown hellhole. You deserve a better place to live…”
He trails off. I get it. He doesn’t have to say anything. He won’t randomly give one of his employees a new home or, even sweeter, move me in with him.
“What did you do?” I ask. “Lyle was terrified this morning. I’ve never seen him like that.”
“It’s very simple,” he says, rising to his feet like he wants to highlight just how much bigger and taller than me he is. “I told him that if he ever laid a finger on his wife again or even spoke to her, there would be problems. I also explained how risky it would be for him to stay in this city.” Dimitri says as he moves closer, “and told him he had to apologize.”
“And he just… did it? Why? Because you’re rich?”
Dimitri’s expression changes and becomes almost pitying. He’s looking at me like I’m some sad little kid without a clue. It’s like his expression shatters the illusion we’ve been building together or the thoughts that have been building in my mind.
He doesn’t want me. He thinks I’m immature.
“What?” I snap when he keeps staring.
“What?” he echoes, like he’s trying to gaslight me.
“You’re looking at me like I’m some pathetic loser.”
“Don’t you know who I am, Lia?”
That familiar, tempting tingle dances over me when he calls me Lia. I have to remind myself not to lose my cool. “I get it, don’t worry. You’re a CEO. You probably paid him off or said you’d hire people to mess with him. I get it. I’m not some naïve little kid.”
Then that pitying look deepens.
“I’ve lived on my own since I was eighteen,” I tell him. “I’ve been alone, with no parents, siblings, or family since I was twelve. I can take care of myself, so stop looking at me like that!”
Suddenly, he moves forward, grabbing onto my hips. He sinks his hands into me as if he likes how curvy I am. I always have been. Even if I lose weight, my curves seem untouched. He leans down. His breath caresses me. My heart hammers hard inside my chest.
“You’re too good for me,” he says, leaning down.
I press my hand against his chest, trying to be strong, trying to push him away. I don’t need anybody. I haven’t for a long time, and I don’t now. Yet I can’t fight the feelings, the tingling shooting up my spine, the shivering deep inside that makes every piece of me sparkle hotly.
He presses his lips against mine. I gasp at the shock. The roughness of his lips. The instant triggering inside me, the instant longing, the instant hunger. The way he groans makes me feel so wanted as our mouths open, our tongues touch, and pleasure surges through me.
Suddenly, being with him doesn’t feel silly. Finding somebody, finding him, doesn’t feel impossible; spending the rest of my life alone does. I smooth my hand from his chest to his shoulder, feeling his muscles pushing against my hands, hard, powerful, big, and making me feel safe.