Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
My father’s eyes narrow, and he leans forward. “Are you threatening me?”
I meet his stance, lacing my fingers in front of me as I lean forward. Almost whispering, I say, “Father, I thought we were here to discuss the person who violated your only daughter and her fiancé with that recording… so were you here for something else?”
Feigning ignorance and accepting his punishment without a fight, he fucking hates when I do that. And just like he always does, he storms off, huffing something under his breath that I don’t quite catch.
He loves to get to me.
He can eat shit.
Only after he leaves do I look down at my phone and read what Aspen sent.
Aspen: You better, B, cause this is bad.
I reflect on her text, then tuck my phone back into my purse before I get the hell out of there, realizing just how bad this truly is.
CHAPTER 8
Ronan
The day flies by, and suddenly, the office in my home is filled with only the dim light cascading through the curtains of the large bay window. I’m exhausted. I’ve spent the entire day trying to figure out who the fuck recorded us and why they sent it to the board. I can’t help but think about what they truly want and why they’re playing a seedy hand.
Who the hell knew we would be there? Brooklyn insists no one knew she’d be there. Given that they initially sent it to the board, it’s someone out to get me. God knows I’ve made enemies, and whoever it is won’t stop. That’s the only truth I know as I run my hand down my face and grit my teeth.
I hate not being in control and not being able to use my connections or money to find out the truth in a matter of seconds. They should fucking know. I’ve given them everything, and they’ve given me nothing. The detective should have given me a name, address, and the fucking social security number of the prick who sent that email. Instead, I’m waiting like a fucking idiot for the other shoe to drop. I can’t imagine it ends here. If anything, this is only the beginning.
I wait for a call.
A note.
Maybe another email demanding money or some sort of ransom not to show the world that explicit video of us. Nothing makes sense, and the more I try to understand, the less I feel like I do. I’m torn and confused about where we go from here, and all I can do is pray that I’m doing the right thing by trusting that woman.
I still don’t have full faith that it wasn’t her in the first place… She’s never been in my bar before. She’s never hit on me before. I’m brought back to that night and the way she eye fucked me from down the bar before ordering me a glass of whiskey. Fuck, even exhausted and burned out, I’m hard as a rock remembering that moment I knew she wanted me the way I wanted her. But why would she do that to herself? It doesn’t make any sense.
I rack my brain for hours on who it can be and how I can find out the truth behind this motherfucker who has this hanging over my head.
Have I fucked anyone over?
Now, that’s a loaded question if I’ve ever heard one. As much as I can say I’m a successful businessman, I’ve also fucked people over in the process. Her father being the top name on that list. You don’t get where I am in life without fucking a handful of people over to get there. You know what they say, it’s lonely at the top, and I can attest to that. I don’t have many friends or people I can trust.
I grew up looking out for myself, and that’s it. My father made sure of it, but it made me a man. I don’t have a relationship with him or my mother anymore, and I’m the only child. This is just how I’ve lived my life. It’s easier not having to worry about anyone but me.
The wind picks up outside, and the second I feel the shift in the atmosphere, I hear what can only be the front door of my home open and then close. Nobody has the key.
Slowly, I grab my gun from inside the drawer and make my way to the disruption. Step by step, I move on autopilot, trying to get to the bottom of who the fuck just let themselves inside my home uninvited. It’s dark, so I can barely see with a looming migraine forming in the forefront of my mind.
My palms are sweaty as I call out, “Who’s there?”
Shaking away the unease, I’m met with a shadow in front of me. Fucking hell.
In one breath, I warn, “You got a death wish?” My heart races as I instantly lower the gun.