Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Seemingly unaware of our exchange, Damion’s attention is razor-sharp on Kellan. “The Russian’s might just be the trap he set himself. What if we just scare him enough that he feels he has to leave the country and retire off the radar?”
Kellan’s brow furrows. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’ll get the board meeting moved, and I’ll pay the guy you have in custody to go at my father, and convince him he’s fucked with the mob. Then I pray like hell my father just goes away. In my mind, it’s the only shot we have.”
“I like the fuck out of this idea,” Blake approves. “Kellan?”
“As long as there isn’t a big money trail, the mob loses by backing away from West Enterprises,” Kellan warns, “it should work.” He pushes off the island. “Let me go get to work. More soon.” He heads for the door.
Blake lingers and points at me. “No interview, Alana. That’s my vote. Damion, let me know on the meeting, and I’ll let you know after Kellan does his thing. What are we doing about travel?”
“If I can push the meeting a day to Friday, we’ll leave together Friday night for the Hamptons.” He cuts me a stare. “If you can agree to stay here until then, no matter how crazy it makes you.”
“I’m not trying to get kidnapped again,” I assure him. “I’ll hold my ground.”
“Good choice,” Blake approves. “My team will be close. Communicate if anything changes.” He offers a nod, and a few seconds later, he’s gone.
I grab a donut because I’m going to need it. “I’m not looking forward to calling Lana.”
“I can call the studio.”
My donut-filled hand goes up. “No. No, I need to do this, and honestly, the more I’ve stepped back from it, the more it pisses me off that they want to snag ratings off my father’s death. I got this. I’m just going to eat this donut and make the call. How easy will moving the meeting be?” I take a bite.
“Piece of cake,” he says, reclaiming the seat next to me. “The minute I tell Max there’s something in the works that will be critical to their decision, he’ll move the meeting.” He catches my hand, leads my donut to his mouth, and takes a bite.
I laugh, thinking about all the many times he did that to me growing up, which would be often. Everything mine was his, and everything his was not mine, it had felt back then, a problem created by our families, a problem we’ve eliminated even before we have true closure. He kisses me and retrieves his phone, and I listen as he calls his assistant and then Max.
My call to Lana is smoother than I expect. She was feeling shitty about asking me to do it anyway, and the interview is cancelled. Lana expects the studio to pressure me, but I assure her I will hold firm. I also promise to work on a target list of special guests for the next season that we can tease the studio with.
I end the call and set my phone down. “It’s done. I took on some extra work to prep for next season, but that’s not a big deal. Now what?”
“I need to go to the office,” he says. “Even if it includes an encounter with my father. Why don’t I take you to a late lunch?”
“Is that rubbing us in your father’s face?”
“There’s a difference between showing him we’re not afraid of him and calling him a killer on TV.” He pushes to his feet, towering over me where I perch on the stool, his hands framing my face. “I’ll take you to Kristie’s. Maybe you can enjoy it this time.”
“Very fancy,” I say, “I’m not turning that down.”
“Then I’m taking you to the Hamptons tomorrow night, my future wife, where we can plan our wedding, be it there or elsewhere.” His voice softens to a promise of naughty things as he adds, “I can’t wait to have you alone on an island all by myself.” He leans in to kiss me, and I think, maybe, just maybe, tomorrow night, West Senior, the monster himself, will be caged, not me.
Chapter Forty
Damion
I enter the office, greet the receptionist, and walk toward my office. Naomi pops to her feet and whispers, “What is going on?” Her blonde hair is mussed up, as if she’s been running her fingers through it, while her simple black dress does its best to look put-together. “I’m being beat up by the board members and your damn father. When can we hope for his retirement?”
“Soon,” I say. “Very soon, but I’m not sure that means he’ll be less of a problem.”
“I’m certain your mother would agree,” she replies, and since she was my mother’s assistant and still talks to her, her “certain” is very certain. “And you still haven’t told your mother you’re engaged, but she knows all about Alana from the buzz she created. I know all about it because the press keeps calling me, but you have yet to really talk to me.”