Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
It’s my turn to be choked. I don’t know what to say to that.
“Goodbye, Dracula,” I manage, pulling the phone away from my face.
“Listen, kitten—”
“That’s not my name.”
“Will you consider it?” he says, his voice so small as I peel the phone away from my ear.
“Bye.”
I end the call and hang my head, totally boneless.
“Fine, you dick. I’ll think about it,” I mutter to myself.
Next to me, Cream gives me a puzzled look, her big white head creased with worry. I scratch her neck until the look eases.
Then my phone chimes with a new text.
Dracula: Call me every filthy name in the book. Write erotica about me with your friend. I don’t care.
Just think about my offer, Miss Landers.
Good God.
He’s going to drive me stark-raving looney.
My finger hovers over Pippa’s number—who I now have four missed texts from, because she was texting me the whole time I was arguing with Dracula—but if I do that, he’s right.
The terrible realization sets in that he’s predicted my next move.
The only thing left to do is give him the shock of his life.
4
No Slow Burn (Miles)
It’s been a couple of days, and I haven’t heard from the auburn beauty next door who only speaks in words that drip venom.
I should storm over there and confront her, dammit, but my home has been invaded by the highest paid “creatives” in Seattle.
Smokey Dave walks up to me—a man who smells like he’s thirty percent cannabis, but never fails to impress with his videography—and grins like I’ve just offered him a ten-pound pan of magic brownies.
“You wanna lead the grand tour, Mr. C? It’d be hella cool if we can get a local to show us around. The younger kids you’re after love authenticity, y’know.”
I’ve never heard any professional label people in the 25-40 age bracket 'kids.'
Also, since when do I look like the town’s social butterfly?
The whole point of departing Seattle for the summer was to avoid people. CEOs don’t babysit camera crews.
“You have a visitor, sir,” Benson cuts in before I can lay down the law.
Clenching my jaw, I scan the crowded room and meet his eyes. “We’re in a meeting.”
“I believe you’ll want to see this visitor, sir. You’ve been waiting for a response for days. If you’re too busy, though, I can simply inform her to get on your books.”
Her.
My chest swells as I draw in a ragged breath.
“Everyone, I have to step out,” I say, not bothering to look behind me for their reaction as I blow past my valet.
She looks so small and out of place in my foyer. Her hands are clasped in front of her like she’s afraid the walls of my house are about to chew her up.
Her bright-yellow sundress swallows her instead, and a sharp smile I can’t decipher ignites her face when she sees me.
“What’s this? You came to torment me in person? I’m honored,” I say, extending a hand.
She doesn’t take it, just steps toward me.
“I came for a job—don’t make me regret this.”
I nod coolly. “And upset a sun angel? No.”
I’m annoyed that I sound so serious. I don’t do reflexive flattery, but it’s sincere here.
She’s a glowing accent against the stark hypermodern black and white of my home, almost blinding in her dress.
“No need to kiss butt. I’m here, aren’t I?” she whispers.
I step closer, inhaling a whiff of her perfume. My nostrils tingle, taking in cutting citrus and something softer and flowery, a smell that matches her radiance.
I glance away casually, trying like hell not to linger.
If my eyes wander her too long, they’ll be diving up her sleek legs and down her cleavage in no time, destroying whatever progress we stand to make.
“Your timing is impeccable, Miss Landers,” I say, taking her hand gently. “We were just about to get started on the project I need you for. You’re welcome to join us in the—”
“Yo, Mr. C, you still busy? Just had a banger idea!” Dave calls behind me, leaning out the door and popping something into his mouth.
Probably another edible disguised as a mint.
Goddamn this talking THC factory. Can’t he stay put for five minutes?
“I hope I’m not making a monster mistake,” Jenn whispers, mostly to herself.
“What mistake?” Smokey Dave echoes.
“Go talk to your team. I’ll be back in a minute.” I put a hand on Jennifer’s arm.
Something electric sears the air.
Her skin feels so soft, delicate and warm against my fingers.
If there’s any mistake, it’s right here. I rip my hand back, ignoring her heavy look.
“Come with me,” I tell her.
“Who was that guy?”
“The video lead for Pinnacle Pointe’s latest tourism push. He’s annoying as hell, but surprisingly lethal with a camera. He’ll help with the feel-good stories we need. We just need a tour guide first.” I lead her into my library, where the others are gathered around in a messy circle.