Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
His eyes dance in delight. “Ask me anything,” he whispers darkly.
“What?” I frown.
“Go on. What do you want to know about me?” He raises a single brow. “Off the record, of course.”
I bite my bottom lip to bite back my goofy smile. I like this game. “Okay.” I pause for a moment as I think. “Do you like your women wholesome and pure, or dirty and slutty?”
Satisfaction flashes across his face, and I realize that I just played straight into his hands. He used the truth serum tactic to see what I really wanted to know: his taste in women.
Shit, I need to up my game if I’m going to keep up with this master manipulator.
He sips his scotch and the air swirls between us. “I like the first to act like the latter… but only for me.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. God, good answer. What would he be like in bed with all this dominant power? “Oh,” I mumble. I get a vision of him naked, and suddenly, I can’t think of an intelligent reply.
Think…
Think…
Say something intelligent.
“Wholesome sluts must be hard to find these days,” is all I manage to come up with.
He throws his head back and laughs deeply, I find myself smiling like an idiot. Then his face falls serious. "Go to bed, Miss Brielle, before this game of truth or dare turns sour."
I drain my glass and stand. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Mr. Masters. I really do appreciate you giving me another chance. You will never find me in your bedroom again.”
He licks his bottom lip as he watches me intently. Sitting on the stool, in his suit with his just fucked hair, he looks nothing short of dreamy.
Electricity zaps between us, and we stare at each other for an extended moment.
Abort mission. He’s old…er… he’s your boss, and you are obviously intoxicated.
Truth serum may also be code for fuck serum.
I stand abruptly. “Thank you, I’ll leave you in peace. Enjoy your night, sir.”
Without looking back, I scurry to my bedroom. Once inside, I lean on the back of the closed door.
My heart is pounding in my chest
Thank God my job is safe.
I have twenty-one days left to secure it.
Don’t blow this, Brielle.
I wake to a thudding sound outside. My room is still somewhat dark, although the sun is trying to rise outside.
Bump.
Bump.
Bump.
What is that noise? I remain still for a while longer, until I hear it again.
Bump.
Bump.
Bump.
I get up and go to the window. Willow is down below, dressed in a bright blue and white sports uniform She’s kicking a ball into some nets. Oh, she plays soccer. I wonder why she’s up practicing so early. Maybe she plays this time every week? It’s Saturday. I’m going to go and investigate.
I pull on my robe and make my way up into the house. Mr. Masters is sitting at the table reading the paper, and Samuel is eating his porridge.
“Brelly,” Samuel squeals as he jumps down from his chair to hug me.
“Hello, cutie pie.” I smile as I hug him back. My eyes eventually rise to glance at Mr. Masters, and I feel my cheeks heat in embarrassment. I can’t believe I asked him what type of woman he likes. What was I thinking?
Mental note: don’t drink straight scotch ever again. Hardened criminals don’t even drink that shit. No wonder my head is pounding.
Suddenly, I feel underdressed and over daggy. I run my fingers through my rat’s nest hair as Mr. Masters appears to study me. “What are you guys doing up and dressed so early?" I ask.
“Willow plays soccer this morning,” he replies.
“What time will we leave.”
Mr. Masters’ face falls. “You don’t work weekends, Brielle. That isn’t necessary.”
“I know.” I take Samuel’s hand in mine. “I’d like to come and support Willow, if that’s okay.”
He frowns, just as Willow walks through the door with her ball tucked under her arm.
“Willow, give me a minute and I’ll just get dressed,” I say. “I’ll be five minutes, tops.”
She scowls. “What for?”
“I want to come and watch you play soccer.”
“What? You’re not coming, and it’s football. Stay at home and paint your nails or something.”
“Willow,” Mr. Masters chastises. “Where are your manners?”
I raise an eyebrow. “To be honest, football isn’t my thing, but coffee vans and sunlight are, so I would like to come.”
She glares at me, and I smile sarcastically, my eyes wide and waiting. “Besides, my nails are already painted.” I hold my hand up and wiggle my fingers. Willow rolls her eyes in disgust.
“Come on, Sammy, you can help me find some clothes.” I smile at the cute little boy holding my hand.
“Please don’t call him Sammy,” Mr. Masters interrupts. “His name is Samuel. Sammy is a seal’s name.”
“Oh.” I frown down at Samuel. “Is Sammy the Seal a thing?” I think for a moment. “I don’t know about that, I’ve never heard of a seal called Sammy.”