Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
To see what?
If I play nice with the others?
“Smoking is disgusting,” I tell him, lifting the glass to my lips again.
“Is it?” He takes another puff and rests his elbow on the table. “I wonder what you would taste like if I blew this up you.” He blows out another cloud of smoke, which lingers in the air as the lights shine through the haze. My thighs automatically clench together, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. It never does.
“Top two, for sure.” I wink at him, and he smirks and puts the cigar out, then taps his leg. I will not be sitting on his leg, thank you very much. I sit opposite him and notice his men watching us, but they stay quiet.
“Do you find something funny, Dawson?” Crue asks.
I turn around to find a man standing behind me. He’s dressed in a white suit but somehow he pulls it off. You would expect him to look stuck up, kind of a pretty boy even. Except he looks dangerous, not as lethal as Crue, but he has the same energy nonetheless.
“Not at all.” He offers a smile that most likely knocks any woman or man off their feet. Then he nods to me, and I can’t help but look Dawson up and down. He’s perfectly polished, which makes him perhaps one of the most dangerous men sitting in this room. At least with Crue you know he reeks of danger from a mile away. In comparison, Dawson seems more sophisticated.
“Rya.” My gaze snaps back to Crue, who is watching me intently. “I’d keep your eyes on me.” I offer a sickly-sweet smile as I lift the glass of champagne to my lips. “Dawson, meet my future wife.” I choke on my drink, my hand going to my chest.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Crue has told me a lot about you.” Dawson takes the empty chair beside me and holds out his hand. I cannot help but simply stare at it.
“What has he told you?”
“That you are an incredible lawyer and have an attitude that rivals his, and let me tell you, that’s a hard one to beat.” He winks at me, and I look back to Crue, who is smirking.
Well, I’ll be damned.
Maybe he does have a friend.
Just the one.
Because had anyone else said that about Crue, he most likely would’ve shot them.
“I told you to stop with the wife thing,” I tell him quietly so only he and Dawson can hear me. Showcase me? Sure, whatever. Tell them I’m your wife? No. I’m done with that. “I think it’s time I leave.” I stand and make to go, but then Crue’s there, his hands sliding around my waist and holding me to him.
He leans down and whispers in my ear, “Princess, we’ve hardly teased one another enough yet. You want to go straight to fucking instead?”
“You said you’d stop with the wife thing,” I reiterate.
“I have. I haven’t asked you to marry me.”
I hate that he’s right. That he finds loopholes in things just like I would in any case I represent. I turn around, and he lets me but keeps his hands on my waist. I can feel the stares of others around us, but he doesn’t seem to care. “Let’s sit. Drink. Then later…” He backs away and pulls me with him to the seat he occupied. I go to take the seat next to him again, but this time, he tugs me down onto his lap.
Dawson offers me my glass of champagne as if I’m not being restrained against my will. “So you’re a lawyer?” he asks.
“Yes, and you are?”
“I dabble in a few businesses. Escorts, mainly.” My eyes go wide at his casual admission.
“Escorts?”
He nods his head.
“Dawson here is the top male escort in all of America,” Crue says.
“And what do you do for him?” I ask Crue.
“Protection,” he replies before he pulls me even closer to him.
Dawson starts talking to someone else, and Crue pulls out a box.
I freeze when I see it.
Another fucking ring box.
“It’s not what you think. Just open it.” I stare at it, unsure. This could be a trick. I don’t really know, and I am not sure I want to take any chances. “Take it. It’s not a ring,” he tells me.
I do as he says this time and open the box. With shaky hands, I look inside, and sure enough, it is not a ring. And I sigh in relief.
“Don’t look so relieved,” he says near my ear.
“It’s a bracelet?” I say, picking it up. It’s too small to be a necklace. I touch the charm and notice it’s a C.
“No, it’s an anklet. Stand up.” He stands too when I’m off his lap, then motions for me to sit back down. He pulls the anklet out of the box and kneels in front of me. He rests my foot on his thigh, then unclasps the chain before he slips it around my ankle and reclasps it.