Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Her head tipped left. “Give me a little credit, Sig. I have eyes. I doubt you’ve volunteered to play Chloe’s host in Boston purely out of the goodness of your heart.” She sipped her drink extra slowly while the implication sunk in, finally bringing the glass down to her hip. “This is your last chance to leave alone, the way you arrived. Your last chance to consider how an . . . unconventional relationship might affect your career. Not to mention the life I’ve built for Chloe. Look around. You don’t think she’ll wish to return to this sooner or later?”
Sig almost caved. Because, yeah. Fuck. He’d been so bowled over by Chloe and how she made him feel, he hadn’t stopped to consider that maybe he was causing damage by taking her away, instead of helping her enrich her music career. Her life. But then he glanced back at Chloe over his shoulder and saw the determined set of her shoulders, the added confidence in her jawline. Her aura of optimism. How could keeping this person with him, near him, be bad? What was he supposed to do? Leave her there and simply hope their parents drifted apart naturally? Leave . . . them to chance?
Can’t do it.
He’d make sure their relationship stayed aboveboard. He’d do nothing to cause her harm. Not to her life or career. Not to his, either.
He’d find the willpower to keep himself in check.
“If Chloe wants to come home, I’ll drive her back here myself,” Sig said gruffly, backing away. “Bye, Dad. Great seeing you, as usual.” Once he reached the truck, he set Chloe’s bag in the middle cab and skirted around the front bumper to open the passenger-side door for her. Once in, she tested the cracked leather seat and looked around, sniffing the air, obviously used to getting into the back of freshly scented limousines, instead of beat-up trucks with a smelly hockey bag in the back. Would she change her mind at the first sign that she was leaving this ultrawealth behind? Because he could give her comfort, safety, and new experiences, but he couldn’t give her this palace overlooking the water.
But then she beamed a smile at Sig, gave him a thumbs-up, and he told himself never to underestimate her again. As of now, she was leaving that kind of treatment in the rearview. “Let’s get you to Boston, Chlo,” he said a moment later when he started the truck. “Right after we stop at the club and pay off your champagne bill.”
“You’re going to pay it?”
“As long as they’ll take a check.”
“They do! Hooray!”
And he told himself to never underestimate Chloe’s ability to spend money, either.
No, he’d learn all about that in the coming months.
“Is there a Sephora in Boston?” she breathed. “I’ve always wanted to go to one.”
What the hell was that? He shrugged. “Probably.”
It wouldn’t be long until he knew more about Sephora than hockey.
More about the harp than fixing trucks.
More about Chloe than he knew about himself.
He’d love every goddamn second of it, too.
Even if he could only love her from a safe distance.
For now.
“Sig,” Chloe said quietly.
His windpipe tightened because he knew what was coming. “Yeah?”
Several seconds of silence passed. “I know we only met tonight and maybe it’s premature or even . . . inappropriate to ask after everything that has happened.” She gripped the nylon of her seat belt with both hands. “But what does all of this mean for . . . us?”
Us.
The us that could have been.
The us they might very well never be.
What was the definition of us when it came to them?
As much as it burned, Sig didn’t have an answer to that. He only knew he would die before jeopardizing Chloe’s future when he could never, not in a million years, offer her the same level of wealth. Hell, he felt sick taking her away from it right now. If he didn’t believe she truly wanted to experience life on her own terms, he wouldn’t have driven her an inch out of the driveway. But his father and Sofia were right, she could return to Darien at any time. Probably would. Who would leave this kind of dream existence forever?
Even if she could get used to a regular life . . .
She was on course to become his stepsibling.
Having her in Boston was going to be full-time murder on his sanity.
Yet having her three hundred miles away would be worse.
For now, all he could do was wait. Hope Sofia realized she was marrying a grifter. Hope she called off the wedding . . . and freed up Sig to pursue Chloe. Romantically.
In the meantime . . . “We’re going to be friends, Chlo.” He forced himself to grin at her, the muscles of his cheeks barely capable of executing the feat. “Best friends.”