Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I snap out of my dark haze. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve gone quiet. And the way you’re looking at me makes me think I’m the lunch.”
Feasting on her would most definitely fill me, but she wouldn’t be my lunch.
She’d be my dessert.
DAMIEN TAKES US TO A high-end sushi restaurant in the busy part of the city. Sitting at a secluded table in the back, the staff, who seem well acquainted with him, keep putting plate after plate of weird stuff in front of us. Some of it looks like it’s ready to get up and crawl away. “So, any chance you’re going to tell me why you have me doing work that someone more qualified should be doing?” I ask, picking up my chopsticks and attempting the safest looking roll on the table.
“There’s nothing to tell. I want your opinion. Therefore, I’m asking for it.” An unattractive snort leaves my lips, and I quickly throw my hands over my mouth. “And what’s so humorous about that, Ms. Stone?” he asks, lifting his ceramic cup of sake to his lips and taking a sip.
“My help?” I laugh. “I’m a college student. First year, at that. I highly doubt my opinion’s going to help whatever it is you’re hoping for.” Lifting my own cup, I take a large sip and instantly choke, almost sputtering it back on the table. Bad move on my part. “What in God’s name…” I cough some more and grab for my water to wash down the nasty taste.
“It’s sake. And you don’t get offered a full scholarship to one of the top business colleges if you don’t know what you’re doing. You have almost all perfect test scores. Second chosen out of five in the program, not to mention seventh pick in all the district. Do you still think you’re not qualified to evaluate my business, or should I go on? Maybe discuss your science fair trophies—”
“Okay! I get it. Geez. What’d you do, hack my high school records?” The last thing I want to do is talk about how big of a dork I am. Damn love for science. “For real, how do you know all that?”
“I don’t involve myself with anyone without doing my research.”
Wow, good to know since I know absolutely nothing about him. Does knowing how amazing he is in bed count? How he smells like sandalwood and masculinity. How he makes my heart race anytime he’s near me? That my skin tingles at his touch or the butterflies who’ve taken permanent residency in my belly any time those eyes capture mine. My body seems to know him very well. But outside of the physical, I know zilch!
You know he’s not a serial killer.
That’s still just guessing! Serial killers could be great in bed too. So back to not know anything about him—I desperately feel the need to fix that.
“Well, I feel like I know nothing about you,” I start, trying not to sound first date cliché and all. Since this is not a date.
“What is it you think you want to know, Ms. Stone?”
I don’t know. Hobbies, favorite food, why he owns a sex club? I normally make it a thing to know more about the people I’m sexually involved with—oh wait, that’s like one other person. Either way, I would prefer to know more than a few simple details.
“What did you go to school for?” Really, Jensen? Way to do a crappy job at fishing for the answer to the real question of—
“You mean, how did I become the owner of a sex club? I believe that’s what you really want to know.”
Damn, he’s good.
“No. I wasn’t—”
“Exquisite was my father’s legacy. His creation. It landed on me by inheritance.”
Hmm, interesting. Not every day you hear the family business is a sex club. I nod with interest. “And where is your dad?”
“Dead.”
“Damien, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” I take a long sip of water to avoid the sudden awkwardness. I should have stuck to his favorite season or music preference. He remains stoic, indifferent. But there’s no denying the way the grip on his wine glass tightens.
“Don’t be. It was a long time ago, and he got what was coming to him. Why did you come to Chicago? You could have gone anywhere.”
Dammit with the topic change. I take another hefty sip. “Well, it wasn’t my first choice. I got accepted to Columbia in New York. They also offered me a pretty sweet scholarship. A better one than UIC. But Christine, my best friend, didn’t get accepted. So, we came to Chicago. Which is fine too. Chicago is a great place for arts and science too. I mean, nothing like New York, but I was okay with it.”
“Tell me more about the art.”
“It’s mainly photography. I love it. The dreamer in me wants to become a professional photographer. Be able to spend each day capturing people’s most intimate moments, the beauty of the rising sun, the blossoming of life, architecture…but that’s a passion. Realistically, I want to open my own business. So, learn the ropes first, decide what to open after.” I stop talking, realizing I’ve gone off into a childish tangent about my silly dreams. For someone who is successful in probably everything he touches, I’m sure I’ve put him half to sleep.