Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
“Angry is not the word I would use.”
“Pissed?”
“Yes, that’s a good one. Ready to murder you is an even better choice.”
“But then that’s not one word, it’s a phrase, and not a very nice one.” He placed his arm on the curve of my back. My skin sparked there, and I tried my best to ignore it. His pace slowed as we walked through the masked crowd.
“Everyone can now sit,” the master of ceremonies declared. “Go forth and enjoy the lovely delights on the table. Your queen has arrived.”
I cringed, while a chuckle fled from Chase’s lips.
“I know I shouldn’t ask, but I’m going to anyway,” Chase said. “Why do you want to murder me again? Do you not like your lovely ball?”
“My panties are wet. I’ve just orgasmed in front of three hundred people at least, and still this night isn’t over.”
“Sounds like a great beginning of a night to me. Additionally, I would very much like to have those panties.”
“Never. You’re already getting enough as it is.”
He continued to guide me past all of the elegantly decorated tables. The full orchestra played behind us. String instruments soared over pounding drums. Horns blared when the saxophones began their melody. Sadly, the music didn’t calm my nerves. Instead, it pushed me further on edge.
Beads of sweat rose under my mask. As soon as I could, I’d escape to a bathroom, take off the crazy get-up, clean myself, and breathe,
just inhale and exhale for a few minutes.
I needed to breathe, take a break from it all. I’d been a regular college graduate that had typical days—coffee with job-searching in the morning, reading the most celebrated books during the week, working out with my friend Vivien, disrespecting my poor vibrator in the evening, and then back to reading a good book before bed with a bowl of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream.
Life had been easy. No difficulties came, besides being broke and helping out my family, which was just my cross to bear.
Months later, after meeting Chase, I’d not only dealt with murder and mystery, I’d fallen for a man that I still couldn’t even comprehend.
Like Prince Charming, Chase possessed charisma and money. But could he be loyal? Was Charming loyal? Did Cinderella ever catch the prince cheating with one of the step-sisters? And most important of all, did her fairy godmother change Charming into a pumpkin, once the adultery was discovered?
“Jasmine?” Chase’s voice brought me back to the ball. “What are you thinking about?”
“A fairy godmother changing a prince into a pumpkin.”
“Did she make a pie out of him afterwards?”
“Probably.”
“Was there any reason the prince was made into a pumpkin?”
“He cheated.”
“Aww.” Chase waved hello to a couple decorated in silver. “It sounds like the prince deserved to be made into pie. Real men don’t cheat. I’ve never cheated.”
“Really?”
“I’m Chase Stone. I don’t have to cheat. I simply ask and receive.”
“And what if you ask me for something I can’t give you?”
“Like what?”
“Other women.” I moved my hand away and stopped us right there on the path.
“You ask me this question once a week.”
“And you stumble around that question once a week.”
“Let’s deal with that, if it comes.”
“No.”
“Enjoy your celebration.” He gestured to everyone around him—guests stuffing their faces with gourmet dishes, women twirling around in their gowns, men ogling the beauties through their masks, and servants racing around to make sure everyone was okay.
“We can’t talk about this here.” He took my hand and pulled me forward. “Let’s go to our table. Since Vivian and Troy couldn’t come, due to watching over Lucy, I decided to not seat anyone else with us.”
“So you want to have this conversation at our table?”
He adjusted his necktie a little as if he needed more room to breathe. “We can talk about this with several glasses of wine, yes.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” He smirked.
I scanned the room and spotted a hallway to what I hoped would lead to a bathroom. “I’ll meet you at the table. I just have to go to—”
“I have a private bathroom for us set-up near our table.”
Shocked, I had to ask, “You put a port-a-potty right next to our table?”
“No.” He laughed. “I made sure our table was next to a private bathroom, and I made sure it was decorated and designed to your needs.”
“Will there be a staff of rose petal bearers, waiting by the bathroom to carry me into a stall and then wipe me up?”
“No, but that’s a good idea. I should’ve thought of that.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re spoiling me to the point where it’s getting to be a bit much.”
“I’m not sure if that is a compliment or complaint.”
“Me either,” I muttered.
“I’ll walk you to the bathroom.” Instead of keeping our path forward, we cut between two tables.
I pulled my hand away from his. “I can go on my own.”