Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
A smile curves my lips. “You’re so perfect,” I murmur.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I settle against his body. Cocooned by his warmth, I let out a contented sigh.
He drapes his free arm over me and rubs slow circles over the heating pad and up to my stomach.
“Mmm.”
“Is that good or am I annoying you?” he asks.
“Good.”
“Okay.” He buries his face against my neck and inhales. “Get some sleep.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“Well, it’s early for bed and you came all this way…”
“Stop. I’m happy right here with you.” He kisses my neck. “You’re even being a good girl and letting me take care of you.”
I shake with quiet laughter. “It’s nice to be taken care of. You’re good at it.”
“Only for you,” he whispers against my ear, his hand still rubbing a soothing pattern. “If I can’t sleep, I brought my laptop. I’ll go out in the living room and do some work. If you need anything, just yell.”
“The Wi-Fi password is on a pink sticky note by my chair.”
“I’ll figure it out. You rest.”
“Okay.”
He’s quiet after that. His hand keeps moving in slow, rhythmic strokes over my stomach. Each pass seems to drag the tension from my body, leaving a weightless calm. His steady breathing grounds me.
Sometime later, he slips his arm out from under me, and I settle into my pillow with a sigh. The bed dips. He presses his palm over the heating pad and tucks the blankets around me.
Eyelids too heavy to open, I mumble my thanks.
My thoughts drift, untethered, slowly pulling me into sleep.
Jigsaw
Satisfied Margot’s asleep, I slide out of bed and out of her room, leaving the door ajar so I can hear her if she needs me. I pad to the laundry room, grabbing the sweats Margot seems to like me in and a T-shirt I left here last time. No need to risk Mr. Cedarwood catching me running downstairs to my truck in just my boxer briefs.
Once I have my bag, I’m back inside in less than a minute. No sudden appearances from her dad. No awkward small talk with her cousin.
Gretel yowls at me the second I step inside.
“Shhh.” I press a finger to my lips as if she understands what that means.
I set my laptop on the counter and grab a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge before settling onto a barstool. The laptop screen glows as I open my email.
Gretel leaps onto the stool next to me, tail twitching, bright eyes focused on me, wide and unblinking.
“What?” I whisper.
More freaky staring.
This cat.
I swivel my stool sideways, and she places one paw on my leg.
“You want to sit in my lap?”
Another paw. Then her little nails claw through my pants as she scrambles into my lap.
“Ow, you little demon.” I curl my arm around her and swivel back to the counter. She sits up, balanced on my leg and stares at the laptop as if she’s about to start typing.
“I don’t remember hiring you to be my assistant,” I mutter, curving my arm around her to tap on the keyboard.
Gretel purrs and rubs her head against my wrist as I check my email.
The first one, sent about an hour ago, grabs my attention.
I’m torn between irritation and confusion.
Stella@StellaStarr.com
Request for funding.
The fuck is she sending this to me for?
Since Z got married, he hasn’t had much contact with the MC’s superstar porn girl. Rooster maintains her website—organizing her content, uploading new videos, keeping things running smoothly. Since Rooster never dipped his dick in Stella—the way Z and our old president, Sway, did—their relationship is strictly business. Although Shelby’s not a fan of Stella’s.
All I do is help Rooster with the messy parts of the website—fixing broken links, making sure the videos work, and sometimes troubleshooting login issues for her subscribers—although apparently, I’m not very “professional” in my responses. Whatever.
But the money side? Not my fucking domain.
Sway set up funding for Stella’s projects and was never transparent with the club about the financials. Now that Z’s president, every major expense goes to a vote. If Stella needs cash, she should be going through our treasurer—or Z.
I click the email open. Big mistake.
I almost gag. Both at the amount she’s requesting and what it’s for.
The MC’s porn princess has been pitching wilder and wilder content ideas for her site lately. No doubt in a sad attempt to capture Z’s attention again. Am I going to raise my hand at church and float that theory to my prez? Hell fucking no.
Not my business.
My phone buzzes against the counter.
I scoop it up and laugh when it’s Rooster.
“Hey, motherclucker,” I answer, keeping my voice low.
“You see this email from Stella?” he asks.
“I’m looking at it right now.”
Gretel lets out a loud, “Meeow” and bumps her head against my elbow, purring like a race car.
Rooster snorts on the other end. “I take it you’re at Margot’s?”