Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 156029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 780(@200wpm)___ 624(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 780(@200wpm)___ 624(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
“Lucky for you that I’m not like other men then, isn’t it?”
“Do you think I’m weak?”
He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “From the first moment I saw you, I knew you weren’t weak. The way you carried yourself, the sway of your hips, the self-respect you have for your body. I wouldn’t be with you if I thought you were weak, and I most definitely wouldn’t be planning a future with you in it.” He wipes my eyes with his thumbs. “I think your life is just about to begin and you will become the woman you were born to be.” He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Don’t be afraid of being strong, angel.”
My eyes search his. It’s like he’s reading my soul.
“You are a powerful woman. You’re beautiful, intelligent, and wealthy.” He kisses me softly. “It’s about time you let the rest of the world know it.” He hesitates for a moment. “More importantly, I want you to believe it for yourself.”
I hold him close, pressing my face against his chest. Who knew that the biggest player in all of England would become my hero?
* * *
My email pings with a new message and I open it up. A broad smile crosses my face when I see the name Spencer Jones.
Good morning, Miss Preston
What is my favourite mail girl up to?
I smile goofily and hit reply.
Dear Mr Spencer,
Your favourite mail girl is working her fingers to the bone.
He replies quickly.
Wrong answer.
Lie to me.
I smile and close my screen down while I think of what to say. This is so awkward to be sitting next to Sarah while Spencer messages me. I have to tell her about the two of us. I can’t lie like this. It’s eating me alive.
I exhale heavily.
Dear Mr Spencer,
I’m just going through my warm-up exercises.
I go on stage in twenty minutes.
I smirk as I wait for his reply.
Fascinating. Do tell...
What will I write now? I think for a moment.
My stage name is Angel Leroo and
I’m a prima ballerina.
Perhaps you’ve heard of my recent show?
The Nutcracker?
Ironic really. Breaking penises happens to be my hobby.
I hit send and giggle. How on earth do I come up with this stuff?
Dear Angel Leroo,
That is one break I will personally look forward to.
I’m happy to oblige all of your broken penis fantasies.
And I look forward to you kissing it better.
Where do you want to go for dinner tonight?
Does he have any idea how gorgeous he is?
Surprise me.
I’m unable to concentrate at the moment.
I’m busy doing splits.
I smirk as I look around.
Your legs won’t be the only thing splitting tonight.
Thank you for warming up for me.
So thoughtful.
We’ll be having Italian food.
Pick you up at 7:00 p.m.
Spence
xo
I feel myself blush and I close the email. He’s just so naughty.
* * *
Two hours later, I’m sitting at my desk staring out the window. Spencer’s pep-talk the other night about deciding to do something, and then going forward and doing it, is playing on my mind.
Perhaps he’s right.
What is holding me back from turning my business dream into a reality?
I mean, I have the money, I have the qualifications, and I definitely know more about the charity sector than most people do. It could be a really great service that could help so many charities.
I just don’t know where to start. How would I even go about it?
Would I get an office here in London and just work by myself for a while until I got established? Or would I go for it straight away and employ a few people so we could hit the ground running? I tap my pen on my chin as I think.
I don’t want to fail.
“I’m so horny.” Sarah sighs beside me. “I think my vagina’s closing up.”
I smile and click open my emails as I listen to her. “I don’t think it has the ability to close up… does it?”
“Did you know that you can lift weights with your Kegel?”
“Huh?” I frown. “Isn’t a Kegel what the actual exercise is called… not your…?”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine, with your vagina or whatever. But, yeah, it’s true. Nutjobs tie stuff to a weight that they put in their snatch, and they lift then squat and stuff. I saw a chick on Facebook who was carrying a surfboard down the beach once.”
“What?” I gasp.
She giggles. “Imagine that, you ask some guy to meet you down the beach and you rock up with a surfboard hanging out of your pussy.” She widens her eyes as if making a great epiphany. “I should put this on my Tinder profile.” She holds her hands up. “I can carry your surfboard with no hands.”
I laugh out loud. “Honestly, Sarah, what next?”
She laughs, and then falls serious. “I think I’m going to look for another job.”
“You are?” I frown. “What do you want to do?”