Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
“Dad, no,” Junior pleaded, his eyes clinging to his father’s face. “They’re pressuring you, so they can rip you off. Let’s not sell. I’ll pull some more hours. This time, I’ll even come to the office every day. I swear—”
“Shut up and let me think,” Senior barked, smacking the table.
Utensils and plates clattered. Some food rolled off the edge.
Dallas groaned. “Not the stuffed cherries.”
The catering staff burst into the room, collecting the plates from our second entrée and replacing them with fresh ones for the next round.
An outstretched hand grabbed my untouched food. I eased in my seat a little, knowing it was Farrow near me.
That, even if our elbows brushed, I wouldn’t keel over.
She bent over the table next to my right arm, trying to reach a side dish. Her short dress rode up her smooth thighs, revealing the curve of her flawless round ass.
Miraculously, my fingers itched to claw onto the back of her knee. To ride up north along her inner thigh. To cup her pussy through her underwear from behind and slide a pinky into her panties, rubbing the seam of her tight, little pussy.
Desire singed my neck, coiling in tight ribbons down my body, sliding past my chest and stomach to my dick.
I was hard.
For the first time in my life, I was hard because of a woman.
A woman with flesh and blood.
In theory, I’d always appreciated women sexually, but never up-close. The realization that I actively wanted to touch Farrow Ballantine floored me.
I wasn’t merely not-disgusted anymore.
I was actively yearning.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Costa, gentlemen.” Senior stood. “I’m going to need a minute with Jasper.”
Junior jerked to his feet, running his tongue along his teeth.
His father shook his head. “Alone.”
Junior blinked in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?”
I gestured toward the door, voice thick with the pain of untapped desire. “There’s a drawing room to your left.”
After Jasper and Senior strolled out, Junior dragged his fingers through his hair, tugging hard as he glanced around.
He squinted at Oliver. “Hey, didn’t I have a threesome with you at some point?”
“Fivesome.” Oliver shook his head, checking his phone with a frown. “Though two backed out at the sight of your sword. Or should I say, your pocket knife.”
Dallas giggled.
Romeo sighed.
“Why, this is shocking,” Farrow whispered, her breath fanning my ear. She collected more dirty dishes from the table, tapping the knife. “I’d have never assumed.”
I didn’t know why, but there was something fundamentally wrong about seeing her serving us. Dallas, especially.
Farrow deserved to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with the Southern belle. To gossip and flaunt a designer frock. To have everyone’s attention and adoration.
She deserved the fucking world, and I hoped one day someone gave it to her. Even if the thought that it wouldn’t be from me made it hard to breathe.
Dallas beamed, erecting a hang-loose sign with a head bob. “Right on, sister.”
Junior sneered at Farrow. “Nobody asked your opinion, Cinderella.”
“Watch your mouth when you talk to her.” Yet again, I speared the table with a steak knife, eliciting intense reactions from everyone seated. “Or I’ll make sure you don’t have enough teeth to speak.”
“Oh.” Oliver plastered a hand over his forehead, slithering it down with a shake of his head. “Not the help, Zachary. Who would’ve thought you, of all people, would turn out just like Chris?”
Rom paused mid-slice. “Chris?”
“Christopher Marshall.”
“Never heard of him. Is he someone whose life we’ve ruined?”
“The Senatorial candidate,” Farrow provided, unfazed by it all. “In that J-Lo movie.”
“Finally.” Oliver stood, showering her with golf claps. “A woman of depth and culture. Maid in Manhattan. I tear up every time.” He scooped up an invisible tear with the back of his finger. “Though I’m sure Zachary over here is more about the Maid in Maryland life.”
It didn’t surprise me that Ollie knew all about Farrow and her cleaning company. Mom probably vented to him over almond cookies and freshly imported da hong pao before whining to Romeo.
“Shut up.” I pointed a fork at my two best friends—a reformed psychopath and a fuckboy with more mileage than a used car. “Both of you.”
Farrow turned to Dallas, ignoring me. “Hey, you should totally try the stuffed bone marrow elote we’re bringing in a sec. They’re to die for.” She jerked a thumb toward me. “I scarfed down all of this buzzkill’s portion in two seconds flat.”
Dallas drew a palm to her cleavage. “Did we just become best friends?”
“I believe so.”
Dal whipped her phone out. “I’ll get us T. Swift tickets.”
Farrow wiggled her brows. “I’ll make us friendship bracelets. Favorite colors?”
“Purple and green.”
Junior pinned Farrow with his dilated pupils, ready to launch into another tirade. “Speaking of being stuffed…”
He fought a bout of sniffles, coked out of his mind, nose snowed in more than a Syracuse Christmas.
But Farrow didn’t pay attention to him. She was already on her way out, balancing seven dirty plates in one palm.