Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
I forgot to mention—Gretchen wasn’t known for her manners.
Demigod took two idle drags, flicked his joint off the balcony, and strolled toward us. Up close, he was positively gigantic—six foot three, minimum—and ruthlessly sculpted.
I didn’t even fancy attractive men. Blokes like him were so inaccessible, so out of reach, that I regarded them like aliens. With a Huh, so you do exist approach. As opposed to Why yes, I’d love to be kidnapped, then anally probed by you.
Besides, well-bred men with receding hairlines and trust funds were more my speed, and this bloke had very few clothes, all of which seemed in poor condition.
“Relax.” Demigod wrapped her hair around his fist and tugged teasingly, his biceps flexing. Even his body language could trigger a spontaneous orgasm. “Little Mary Poppins won’t breathe a word.”
Gretchen swatted him away on a bark. “Easy for you to say. You have nothing to lose if she walks out of here and starts singing to the press. You’re single.”
“That I am. The best state to be in, and I’ve visited all of them.” He winked as he ambled to her fridge and plucked out one of her ginger juices. Leaning a narrow hip against the counter, he took a long sip before pointing at me with the bottle. “Does Mary Poppins have a name?”
“Daphne Markham.” Gretchen twisted her mouth in repulsion, as though the very thought of me depressed her. “She’s my assistant.”
Now I was standing there in my flowery Ellie Nap jigsaw dress—I couldn’t leave my flat in the same jammies I’d collected biscuit crumbs on—being roasted by these two cheaters. The amount of rock bottoms I’d hit today had me sinking to a whole different galaxy.
“Assuming your temper out of bed is as ferocious as it is inside it, I’m guessing there’s not a whole lot of motivation on her part to keep her mouth shut,” Demigod said to Gretchen.
“Please. As though if she liked me, it’d have made a difference.” My boss began buttoning her torn blouse. “Money is money, and she’s very fond of it.”
What gave it away? My weakness for designer clothes or the fact I dated BJ Abbott, the heir to a real estate mogul?
Formerly dated, I reminded myself.
“Then how ’bout we grease her palm a little?” Demigod suggested. “Make it worth her while to keep her pretty little mouth shut.”
My eyes ping-ponged between them. For once, I held back my snarky remarks. I wanted to see where this was going.
Gretchen huffed. “Take it seriously, Riggs!”
Riggs. What a peculiar name for a peculiar person.
And a single one too.
“I am serious.” Riggs flashed a perfect set of teeth. “As you said, money is money, and you’ve got a fuck ton of it, babe.”
Riggs had a tattoo of a mountain on his inner bicep, and beneath it, a list of famous mountains: Mount Everest, K2, Kangchenjunga, Lhotse, and so on. The entire list had been crossed off, other than Denali.
He was a mountain climber. How odd that the only major mountain he hadn’t climbed was in Alaska.
How odd that you’d be thinking about his mountain-climbing career while contemplating blackmailing him. Which, by the way, was the direction I was currently leaning toward.
“Fine!” Gretchen swiveled, training her venom-filled gaze on my face. “What’s your price?”
“Take me with you to DC,” I blurted out.
It was the only way I could stay here and wait for BJ, which, for a reason beyond my grasp, was something I was still entertaining, even after he’d screwed me over tonight.
She stared at me for a long moment before tossing her arms in the air and bursting into a tearless sob.
“They won’t let me bring my own staff. Let alone consider a foreigner for a White House job.”
“I need someone to sponsor my visa.” I laced my arms over my chest.
“I can do that!” Gretchen’s eyes lit up. “I can get you interviews with all the networks in Manhattan.”
I shook my head. “I’m not talking interviews. I’m talking about a visa. One I could use to gain employment anywhere. No strings attached.” I was done being metaphorically squeezed by the bollocks by a network that knew I depended on it to stay in the country. Plus, I wanted to make my own hours and negotiate a better salary. And though my inclination was to remain in the news industry—it was fast paced, glamorous, and full of opportunities—I couldn’t help but internally admit to myself that I found the news . . . well, quite boring.
I turned to look Riggs in the eye. “Mary Poppins here isn’t thick.”
“But I am.” Riggs winked mischievously. He was in the process of rolling himself another joint, licking the edge of the paper with expertise. “And no offense, but smart people don’t usually work for tyrants.”
“At least I’m not sleeping with one,” I said pointedly.