Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I pluck the pen from his hand and sign on the dotted line. I’ll take that as a win today. Once it’s signed, I tuck the contract in the pocket of my loose dress because… hello, pockets in a dress.
He steps around the car and opens the passenger door for me. He waves for me to enter, but I stay where I am.
“Where are we going?”
His gaze pins on me, but again, he says nothing. I think he’s hit his threshold for speaking for the day. This guy is all sorts of unusual, and it’s a crime to package someone with such a terrible personality with the looks of model. He’s polished in a terrifying way, but I have the impression those muscles under his shirt aren’t for visual purposes only.
“I won’t allow you to kill me,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest as I round the hood and make my way to him.
“Get in the car,” he finally says. I huff and step up closer to him, and instantly, I can smell him. He smells like a fresh breeze on the ocean. Light but memorable. I regret that I got this close to him, because he reminds me that despite his personality, he is hot as fuck. Not only do his shaved head and gloved hands intimidate me, they also make me think I’ve been chasing the wrong kind of men most of my life.
Even then, I distinctly know this is a man no woman should chase or try to attract.
“Where am I singing?” I ask as I slide into the car. He shuts the door behind me and walks around to the driver’s side.
Give me strength if I have to deal with this man once every two weeks. But at least it’ll fast-track my goals.
When he opens the door and sits next to me, it’s only seconds until he revs the engine, works the stick on his manual car, and takes off. Shit. I reach for my seat belt and quickly put it on.
This guy is a maniac.
“Where am I singing?” I repeat.
He reaches for the volume dial on the radio and turns it up, effectively shutting me up.
This guy can’t be serious.
What the fuck have I signed myself up for?
CHAPTER 9
Lena
After ten minutes of listening to classical music, I mute the radio.
“Where are we going?” I ask him again, folding my arms over my chest.
He looks over at me, his brows knitting together as he keeps driving. I glance at the road—the one he is not paying attention to—before I look back at him.
I’m uncomfortable with the way he looks at me and terrified with the way he doesn’t look at the road.
“Why were you friends?” he asks, then focuses back on the road.
I throw my arms up in the air in disbelief, not that I should be entirely shocked. “Cinita again? Come on, dude. You obsessed with her?” He slams on the brakes, and thank fuck I put my seat belt on. I gasp and look at him as my hand clutches the belt around me. “Are you crazy? That could have killed me.”
“You’re fine,” he says before he takes off again. He drives to an underpass and stops under it. Okay.
The noises from the cars above are deafening as they pass over us, yet under here it’s oddly lonely. He gets out of the car and slams the door, leaving me alone. I watch as he walks in front of the car toward the river and stops in a particular spot, assessing it. No fucking way am I getting out. This looks exactly like a place he would kill me. No, thank you very much.
“Lena.” He calls my name. I hear it. Even over the noise, I hear his summons. But when I don’t move, he explains as if I don’t understand. “Get out of my car.”
“Why?” I yell, knowing he can hear me if I can hear him.
He nods his head to the spot next to him, clearly exasperated, though he doesn’t make a show of it. I’ve come to learn the subtleties in his body language. It’s the only thing that gives him away… slightly.
“Do not make me get you out,” he warns, and I notice his slight Russian accent comes out with his impatience.
“I’ll stay here, thank you very much,” I tell him, slinking into the seat and holding my seat belt as tightly as I can. He cracks his neck from side to side, cursing under his breath before stepping in my direction. He grabs the door handle and pulls the door open. I clutch the seat belt as I stare up at him.
“Out,” he says again.
“No.”
“This is a part of your job.”
“No, I get paid to sing.”
“You get paid because I allow it, but your ass is mine while I have you. Now, get out of the car.” He motions for me to get out, but I shake my head.