Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
He stepped into the bathroom one menacing step, and I turned, my back to the vanity, anticipating his approach. With a short look at his bare feet and long, muscled legs, my heart beat faster. His brow low, he searched my face, and the silence was killing me.
“You think this is a goddamn hotel?”
Another step closer, and as I moved to retreat, my towel-covered lower back came into contact with the cool marble of the vanity. I was stuck. There was nowhere to retreat to.
My lips parted in surprise at the aggression that came off that calmly spoken question.
Cheeks flushed, I shook my head.
“You think I’m your fucking butler?” His jaw steeled with that one.
I swallowed hard, my voice weak. “I’m not asking for much. I didn’t ask to be here, Julius. Don’t be unreasonable.”
He took one more step, this one larger than the others, and stood toe to toe with me, looking down at me with eyes so cold they could only be described as glacial. “Let’s recap, shall we?” Oh, I didn’t like the sound of that. He leaned down, getting into my face, and his quiet words were somehow louder to me than a shout. “You force yourself into my life, ending an innocent man’s life for reasons you won’t reveal to me, fuck up my reputation and mess with my business all in the span of an hour, and embarrass me, have me chase you halfway into the next county, burden my life with your mere presence and take over my space, my personal haven, where I go to be relieved of shit like you”—Jesus, that hurt more than it should’ve—“and you feel you have the right to ask anything of me?” His nostrils flared with his barely concealed fury and his eyes blazed. “Bitch, please. I beg you to give me an excuse to pop your ass and, right now, you’re coming close.”
What he whispered next was somewhat baffling.
His hand came up slowly, and he gently fingered a strand of my hair, accidentally touching my upper arm, causing it to break out in gooseflesh. His warm breath on my cheek, he muttered, “You’re not cutting your hair. Don’t ever fucking ask me again.”
With that, he spun on his heel and left the bathroom, shutting it closed behind him with a light slam.
The hurt in me throbbed through my entire body, my breathing stiff, making my limbs weak. Raising my fingers to my lips, I held them there.
I’d wanted a reaction and, yes, I’d gotten one. And this reaction rocked me.
But then, why did it seem I was more affected than Julius?
I shook off the thought and turned slowly, brushing my teeth in thick silence, hoping the morning would improve from here on out.
Now, about an hour has passed before the sound of the front door opening slowly, quietly, sounds. It closes with a hush, and soft, muted footsteps move down the hall.
When she moves to pass the kitchen, she glances in, stopping in surprise with her heels in one of her slender hands. The look of shock is quelled quickly and, lifting her nose in pride, she makes her way into the kitchen as if nothing happened the day before.
A cat-like smile on her pretty, bare face, she walks right past me without a backward glance and moves toward the coffeemaker, where Julius stands. “Morning.”
Dressed in blue jeans and a white long-sleeved tee, his shoulders loosen as the worry of not having his precious Ling nearly disappears, and he brings his mug of coffee to his lips and sips. “Have fun?”
Her tone is non-committal. “Yep, sure.”
He glances at her over his mug. “So, who was it this time? Chip? Norman?”
I watch her watch him thoughtfully before she responds daringly, “I never got his name, but I got a hell of a response when I called him Daddy.”
I’m sure he’s going to tear her apart with that smartass comment. Instead, much to my despair, he dips his chin, shaking his head lightly as his body shakes with his silent laughter.
“All things with Ling are a thing… You either love her or hate her, no in-between.”
Wasn’t that what he’d said?
One thing I knew for sure, Ling and I would never be friends. And what I was about to do was going to cement our hatred for one another.
I stand from my position at the dining table, bringing my empty coffee mug over to the kitchen sink and rinsing it. From my peripheral vision, I see the very moment she notices the clothes on my body.
“Yo, bitch. You raid my closet?” she asks, scarcely hiding her anger at the thought.
Wearing an expression of angelic innocence, I look down at the wide-leg linen pants and toffee cashmere sweater before looking up at her and responding, “Uh, no. Jay got them while I was showering this morning. I hope that was okay.”