Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Tucking my hands behind me, since I knew he hated the sight of my short, unladylike nails, I patiently waited in front of his desk for him to acknowledge my presence. My nails were a necessary evil of my disgraceful hobby, as my father would put it, of my cello playing.
The only sound in the room was the ticking of the antique mantel clock and the scratch of his pen across a balance sheet.
The minutes stretched by and still I waited.
Twenty-four years old and I waited on my father as if I were still a child.
Every tick of the clock was a damning metronome marking off the time I had wasted.
Time I hadn’t spoken up for myself.
Time I hadn’t told him to take his money and shove it.
Time I hadn’t just turned around and walked away, valuing my time as much as he valued his own.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
It was strange. I never imagined the tock. It was a silly game I had played since I was a child. The clock was a ticking bomb, urging me to run. To run out of my father’s office for as far and as long as my legs would carry me.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Each tick ratcheted up the suspense.
The trick was never to imagine the tock. That was the boom. The end. Time was up. Especially if I imagined it and I was still standing in front of my father’s desk.
If that happened, then I lost the game.
Finally, my father looked up. In his usual brusque manner, he announced, “You’re getting a bodyguard.”
“But—”
“I don’t want to hear any back talk. There have been too many shenanigans with the daughters of the wealthy lately. I’m not taking any chances with my investment.”
“You mean your daughter,” I said under my breath.
“I mean my investment,” he corrected. “Now stop wasting my time. My decision is final.”
“Do I at least have a say in who you hire?”
Having already dismissed me, he didn’t bother to look up as he scribbled a note with his pen. “No. He’s waiting for you out in the hall. Now leave.”
There was no point in arguing.
Exiting his office with my head down, I walked straight into a wall of muscle.
Two strong hands grasped my upper arms, my shocked gaze clashing with a pair of dark, arrogant eyes.
“Hello, brat.”
Tick … TOCK.