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)
Is it as simple as a little blackmail? Nick taking away the one thing Shep loves?
Or maybe it has something to do with this arrangement.
No… Nick isn't the type. He's a straightforward, no-nonsense guy. Except for the whole sleeping with an intern ten years his junior thing, he's obsessed with propriety.
I rack my brain for some explanation that will tie these things together—Nick convincing Shep to get sober and Shep paying me to marry him—but there's only one thing.
Me.
I wouldn't do this if he was drinking. He must know that.
But it's been a year. There's no way he waited all that time.
"Jasmine?" Dad makes that mm-hmm noise again. "There's something you're not saying."
"Nothing important."
"I know I'm old—"
"You're not old." He's not even fifty.
"But I still remember things. And I remember your fiancé." His intent is clear. He was always drinking. Always drunk. Even when the situation didn't call for it.
I can't exactly deny it. But I can change the subject. "This isn't helping me pick out a dress."
He doesn't bite. "It will be your family soon. It will be your problem too."
Maybe. But I'm really not getting in the middle.
I pull out my cell to text Shep.
To say… something. I'm not sure if I actually want Lizzy's help, but I do want to know what he'll say.
Is he still furious?
Because he thinks Nick fucked me? Or because of rehab? Or something else, something I don't see.
There's already a message from Shep.
Shep: I just got word from a colleague. We need to have our engagement party on Saturday. Is that a problem?
Jasmine: No.
Shep: Good.
Jasmine: I was going to ask Lizzy for her advice on a dress.
Shep: You're in touch?
Jasmine: On and off.
That's an exaggeration. But I know the sassy programmer. She'll be jazzed to see me. And even more excited to offer fashion advice.
She defies that whole nerds only wear jeans and graphic tees stereotype.
Shep: Just Lizzy?
Jasmine: Who else?
Shep: You've been friends with Nick for a long time.
Jasmine: He's not a fashionista, last time I checked.
Shep: Just Lizzy. I don't want you seeing him alone.
So he does believe something happened. Or he's jealous.
I want to tell him to fuck off. To insist I'll see who I want.
But that's not what I agreed to. I'm not to appear unfaithful. Dinner with my fiancé's brother—
That will be a headache to explain.
Not that I have a choice.
I'm still Shep's to bend, pose, break.
But I'm not letting it get to me today. Today, I'm going to enjoy the spoils. To soak up every drop of freedom.
Even if there are only a few sips.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Shepard
My phone buzzes against my thigh.
Jasmine. Everything else goes through my assistant.
No doubt something else about my brother. To tempt me. Tease me. Drive me insane.
If he touched her…
I look to the woman sitting across from me. She's talking about her startup. Some medical technology that will save the world. It's a brilliant idea, but it's going to take a lot of money.
Even then, it's a long shot.
Still worth the risk. I make an offer.
She stares back at me, mouth agape, eyes filled with surprise. She's new to this world. Everything is still thrilling. Everything is still second to the mission.
"Of course, Mr. Marlowe. Just get the paperwork to our lawyer." She smiles, excited but careful.
I like her. If things were different, I'd invite her to dinner. Or to skip dinner and go straight to sex. I used to play a lot, yes. But I enjoyed normal sex too. Whatever normal means.
So long as women understand my terms—that I'm always the one who moves things along—I enjoy a lot.
Now…
She's intelligent, articulate, beautiful. A lithe brunette with trendy clothes and defined features. If she wasn't a medical student, she could be a model. I'm sure she turns every head that passes her. I'm sure most men picture her in their bed.
But I don't. I only see Jasmine. Already, my head is filling with thoughts of her soft groan. Her tan thighs. Her red lips.
I need that again.
I need her tied to my bed.
I need her writhing with pleasure. So much she's begging me to stop.
"Of course." I stand. Shake the start-up founder's hand. Walk her to the door.
My assistant says something about a next meeting, but I ask her to wait. She offers coffee. When I say no, she looks at me like I'm crazy.
It is crazy. I don't turn down coffee. I'm a walking cliché. The recovering alcoholic who turned to sex and caffeine.
But then I guess I already have my preferred fix.
"An espresso, yes." I wave a thanks. "In ten minutes. I have a call."
Her expression gets knowing. She's almost as bad as Key. God, when Key and Lock get together—
I'm sure Jasmine would roll her eyes at a third assistant. It is ridiculous. But I need to keep things separate. I need sharp lines between every segment of my life. It's the only way.