Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
I glanced from his screen to him. The cocky smile on his face said everything he hadn’t. Margot was right. He was one hundred percent the kind of guy who would make a woman call him Daddy in bed.
“Just so you know,” I took a breath, lifted an eyebrow, and did everything within my power not to glance back at his screen. “I’m not one of your subscribers. Margot is.” So, I kind of threw her under the bus, but she would have gladly volunteered that information. “I’ve only looked at your site for selfish, criminal needs.”
“Is that what you call it? Selfish”—his grin widened—“criminal needs? I like that.”
And I liked how deep his voice had gone when he said he liked it. God, I wanted to hurt him. I closed the screen again. “Selfish needs, as in blackmailing your ass.”
“Whatever you want to tell yourself.”
“How are you so arrogant?”
He reopened the device. “How are you so annoying?”
The how are yous could have gone on for the rest of the flight, which was exactly why I went back to my movie.
We were somewhere over the Atlantic when the curiosity grew to be too much, and I took a peek to my right.
The Taj Maballs. I almost laughed but caught myself and choked it back.
Vance glanced up from his keyboard, giving me a suspicious look. “If it bothers you so much, why are you looking?”
“It’s hard not to with titles like Taj Maballs and all.” I half rolled my eyes.
“I would have thought someone whose favorite movie is Dumb and Dumber would appreciate that brand of humor.”
How did he know that was my favorite movie? I’d never had a conversation with Vance outside of work-related topics—or blackmail. Unless… “Do you eavesdrop on mine and Margot’s conversations at work?”
“It’s not eavesdropping. You and Margot don’t know how to whisper.” His fingers flicked over the mouse pad, and whatever that little movement did, it definitely did something with Photoshop that brought out the veins in his dick. “Thanks to her, I probably know way more about you than that Jimbo guy.”
Of all the guys for Vance to bring up, it would be the asshat who cheated on me with my sister.
“I wouldn’t take you to a sushi restaurant because I know you’re allergic to wasabi. And I promise you, unlike him, I know where the clit is.”
Margot was loud. I could absolutely believe Vance had overheard every minute detail of my love life for the past year, but as loud as she was, she hadn’t screamed that I was allergic to wasabi at the top of her lungs.
His gaze drifted from my eyes to my cheeks. “You’re way less volatile looking when you blush.” Then he went back to editing Paul, the Traveling Penis, and I went back to watching slapstick comedy while traveling beside a dickhead.
Chapter Eight
VANCE
Ding.
“Sir, please put your seat in its upright position and prepare for landing.”
The smell of coconut filled my nose before I groggily opened my eyes. Not only had I fallen asleep for the duration of the flight, but I’d fallen asleep on her—after she’d fallen asleep on me.
I fished my phone from my jeans pocket, held it up, smiled, and snapped a picture. It was incredibly unflattering. Her dark hair stuck up in all directions, mouth half-open. She looked like a corpse, and I had every intention of posting it to my Wanderlust Media InstaPic account later. When traveling with someone you hate, make light of the situation by making them hate you even more.
Satisfied with my plan, I dropped the phone to my lap and poked her. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Blackmailer.”
Grumbling, she slowly sat up. That was when I noticed the wet patch on my shoulder.
“You drooled on me.” I grabbed the sleeve of her T-shirt and attempted to wipe off the cold slobber.
She tolerated it for all of five seconds before she slapped away my hand. “Drool is a normal part of travel, Vance.”
A normal part of travel, my ass. I took my phone and pressed Go Live.
“What are you doing?” she asked, exasperation clear in her tone.
“Collecting evidence.”
“Evidence?”
“I think a section of why I don’t exactly like you would be a nice add-on at the end of my advice column… Droolerella.”
“You were the kid who got shoved into lockers in high school, weren’t you?” She mumbled, “Droolerella” while she buckled her seatbelt, then she glanced at the cold, wet spot on my shirt. “You realize the fact that you left me there, asleep, on your shoulder, is concerning?” Only she would take something like sleep-slobbering on a person and try to make it not her fault.
I cut off the recording. “I shoved you off five times.” I hadn’t. I’d moved her once, and her face smacked the window. The next time her head had rolled onto my shoulder, I’d just left it. Her hair smelled good… “It was like I was a magnet for you.”