Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
A million dollars buys a year of my life.
So when I hear his voice on the intercom outside the elevator, I steel myself.
He wants something from me.
Maybe it's something I can give him.
But he won't get my love.
That's not for sale.
Chapter Eight
Jasmine
Light streams through the wide windows. Bounces off the shiny tile floors. The clean walls. The expensive furniture.
A leather couch with soft edges. A long dining table in cherry. Chandelier lights with sparkling accents.
And Shepard, standing in the middle of the room in a sleek grey suit.
He really is handsome. He always was, but now that he's older and broader, he's a full-blown hunk.
"Jasmine." He says my name like it's his favorite car. Something he adores. A possession he adores. "Please. Sit. We have a lot to discuss." He nods to Lock.
Lock understands immediately. "I'll leave you to it." He bows and moves along the sleek hardwood, through the hallway, down the spiral staircase.
This place is beautiful. Modern and antique. Like an updated castle. I didn't believe Lock at first. I didn't believe Shep would live somewhere with quaint charm. But he does.
"Would you like something to drink?" He motions to the gold tray sitting on the table. The two espresso cups, both filled with dark liquid.
"Are you going to make it?" It's hard to picture Shepard fixing his own tea. The man has a driver, for goodness' sake. When was the last time he thought about boiling water?
"I can call Lock, if you think he'll do a better job."
"He is English."
"I prepared something for you."
"You personally?"
"I arranged for it." He picks up his espresso cup. Takes a sip. "I never could bake."
"Or cook."
He just barely smiles. "It's important to know your strengths and weaknesses."
"And your enemies?"
"Yes." His voice is matter-of-fact. Like it's oh, so obvious. Like everyone knows. "You still prefer oolong?"
"Anything is fine."
"Do you?" His voice drops a little lower. Gets a little harder.
"Does it matter?"
"Yes." Shep places his ceramic cup on the tray. Then he closes the space between us. Rests his palm on my wrist. "I know this isn't what you want, Jasmine. It's not an ideal circumstance for me either."
That should make things clearer, but it doesn't. Why would he ask me to marry him—pay me an outrageous sum to marry him—if it's not what he wants?
I stare into his eyes, trying to find his meaning, but they're still so deep and impenetrable.
How can they be such a clear blue when his intention is so murky?
God, his eyes are gorgeous. I want to get lost in them. To watch them fill with joy, pleasure, demand.
You're going to beg for my cock.
I swallow hard. "You're going to fix our awkward circumstance with tea?"
"I know I can't fill all your needs. But you are going to be my wife. I am going to take care of you."
"Tea isn't true love."
"Not what Mom would say."
My heart aches for him. And for myself. We both know what it's like, losing a mother young, struggling to pick up the pieces. "What would Olivia say?" I knew his mom for a while. She was an amazing woman. Even when she was ill, she was full of life. An artist who saw the good in everything.
"Jasmine?" His voice softens as he runs his thumb over my forearm.
The touch is comforting. Too comforting. And too familiar. He's a different person now.
He's not the boy I loved. And I'm not the girl he loved either.
That girl had big ambitions. She had dreams. Now, my biggest dream is for Dad to survive.
I'm not sure I can have that. But I can have him walk me down the aisle. That's something.
A lot even.
"What would Olivia say?" I let my hand fall to my side.
He watches our touch break, but he doesn't mention it. "Tea is sunshine in a cup."
I can't help but smile.
"No matter how awful or wonderful your day, it will get a little better with a cup of tea."
I nod.
"Now, don't frown," he says, still in his mom's voice. "You'll get wrinkles."
A laugh falls off my lips. I can remember her saying that to him. It was always half teasing. "She was right."
"I don't see any lines."
Is it that obvious my life is more frowns than smiles? "About the tea. It does make every day better."
"Allow me." He motions to the table.
I sit next to the tray of espresso. He nods a thank you, finishes the last sip of his coffee, takes the tray with him to another room. The kitchen, I guess.
I stay busy looking around the room. The walls are new, a freshly painted ecru. Covered in modern paintings. I recognize one from his house in the Bay. His mother's work.
All of these are his mother's. Abstract shapes in bold colors. Somehow, she tells a story or creates an emotion with only a teal triangle and a mint circle.