Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
The passive aggressiveness didn’t escape me. I couldn’t blame her. I was MIA when her daughter—my wife—suffered from pneumonia during the holidays. The epitome of a crappy husband. Yet, I doubted she would appreciate the reply I kept on draft for her.
Romeo Costa: Hello, Mrs. Townsend. My apologies for being away. I am currently occupied with the grave task of alternating between drinking myself to death and picking bar fights to release my rage, as your daughter made it perfectly clear that what I thought was a true relationship was actually her desperate account to escape me. I shall be there as soon as I get over the fact that I am nothing more than a bag of money and dildo full of sperm to her.
As I sprawled on the minimalist leather couch in Zach’s living room, cradling expensive whisky, I knew one thing was for certain—I was in love with Dallas Costa. In love with her, with the ground she walked upon, with her laugh, with her freckles, with her obsession with books, her messiness, her joy, her unapologetic personality. Every bit and piece of her, I adored.
I had no idea at what point, exactly, Shortbread had bewitched me. I only knew that I was helplessly and inappropriately in love with her when I didn’t want to be. In fact, one of her few appeals when I’d initially taken her as a wife was what I’d thought was the absolute certainty that I would never develop feelings for her. Everything I’d once found awkward and unrefined about her ended up being my kryptonite.
The drink in my hand turned into three, which turned into five and then some. With Jared on vacation, I ended up in an Uber, a Burberry scarf wrapped around my face three times to conceal my identity. For a reason unbeknownst to me, I’d chosen Costa Industries as my destination. Not a soul occupied the building beyond a graveyard security team, so I sprawled across the lobby marble, chugging down whisky straight from the bottle.
I released a humorless laugh.
You took a bullet for her.
You broke your no-heirs rule for her—or at least, you intended to.
I had spinelessly accepted her demands, her flaws, her passions, and her ways. And still, she did not want me. There was little point in trying to convince her otherwise. The worst part was, although I loathed Dallas for acquiring my love, I still worried about her. Even after everything she’d said about me to Franklin, I wanted to be by her side. Hold her hand. Tend to her.
I was wrong. I’d never loved Morgan. What I’d felt toward her was ownership and entitlement. This. This was what love felt like. Like an organ of mine was in someone else’s hand, and I couldn’t retrieve it if I tried.
I hated every moment of being in love with Shortbread.
But that didn’t make it any less true.
I stumbled through Costa Industries’ rotating doors, bumping into the sober, stone-faced oaf. Unfortunately, I wasn’t drunk enough to fucking hallucinate. Yes, it was Madison Licht, standing before me in all of his five-foot-seven glory. Or rather, modesty.
“Well, well. What do we have here?” The frigid air lashed at both of us, but since he shared the same pallor as a melted snowman, his cheeks were the only ones to turn clown-red. “Getting into the Christmas spirit by solo drinking?”
“Not everyone can bask in the pleasure of seeing their company crumble to rubble. How’s Licht Holdings doing, by the way?” I palmed my phone, calling an Uber. Five goddamn minutes.
“We’ll bounce back.” Madison ground his molars. “We always do.”
“Word around town is, in addition to your mounting legal troubles, you’ve also failed more audits than the Pentagon. If only you knew a financial expert with nearly a decade of experience in Defense.”
“I’d rather die than accept help from you.”
“I was hoping for that option.” I flicked the empty whisky bottle into a nearby trash can. “Let’s proceed with your untimely death.”
“So smug.” His nostrils flared as he sneered at me through a mist of red fury. “You think you’re so untouchable, don’t you?”
I knew he’d leaked my failed demo to the press. That he thought he’d done something other than handed me one giant wrapped gift ahead of Christmas.
I barked out a laugh. “Oh, I’m touchable. Your ex-fiancée touches me all the time. Everywhere. She’s delectable. Thanks for that, by the way.”
Madison advanced, fisting my collar, something he’d never do—or get away with—had I been sober. His rotten carp breath rained down on my nostrils. “Don’t forget that I know your little secret. That Morgan revealed all your deepest, darkest fears to me before she fucked off.”
“My secrets can’t kill me,” I said, realizing for the first time that it was true. The past was just that—the past. As unbearable and painful as it was.