Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
But this art is large, vibrant. It sucks you in. Most of the paintings are oil and abstract, although he does have some charcoal nudes in the bathroom.
Taking a deep breath, I peer at his nightstand. Screw it. He’ll never know, and I want to know what makes him tick.
I walk over and look over my shoulder, which is stupid. The door is locked, and it’s just me.
A rush of adrenaline runs through me. Is this bad? It feels bad. What if I find a diary? Would I read it?
“Fuck, yes, you will,” I whisper, tugging open the drawer. I don’t know what I was expecting, but definitely not a gun.
“Holy shit.” I straighten up. It’s in a holster, but that is a gun. I swallow and lean down to look at what else he’s got. Pens, a ton of condoms, and a box.
Again, that nagging feeling sweeps over me. Is this bad? Am I crap? Because I’m completely invading his personal property. Not moving, I simply stare at it.
I should shut the drawer.
I should.
“Stop, he’s got a butt plug in your ass. You’ve earned the right to look.” Not even caring that I’m talking to myself—it soothes me—I take the velvet sapphire box out and smooth my fingers over it. It’s about the size of a small shoe box with a latch.
If this box was really important, it would be locked, I reason with myself. The snap clicks open easily.
“Shit.” I take a breath and exhale, slowly sitting down on the bed to look inside.
Sketches? Interesting. I pull out a handful. There have to be more than a hundred on all sorts of paper, in ink, crayons, and pencil, and they are… stunning.
“Are these Jett’s?” My hand traces the mountains and sunset done entirely on a white paper napkin, in what looks like black pen. Another shows flowers wrapped around a woman’s leg, almost climbing onto her, using nothing but crayon and white paper, folded up. Sketch after sketch, I view each one, my head spinning. Who did these? They’re not signed. They have to be his, right?
I’m obsessed. If these are his, the man has a true gift. I look up at the giant oil painting wondering if that one’s his also. Like is this his true passion, and he’s only a lawyer to pay the bills?
“Ms. Stewart?” I scream and bolt up, spilling a ton of drawings on the floor, and stare at Patty.
“Oh my God, you scared me.” Sinking to my knees, I try to pick up the sketches so she doesn’t see them, which is absurd. It’s obvious I’m checking them out. That doesn’t mean she can.
“Here.” She hands me a cell phone.
“Oh.” I blow some hair out of my face. “Um, thank you. I was just…” My voice trails off because, again, this woman is not stupid. Clearly, she sees a lot of things in this house, so hopefully she doesn’t say anything to Jett. Should I ask her not to? Would that make me sound guilty?
“Raven.” Her voice makes me jump. “The phone.” She wiggles it at me. I try to stand, holding his treasures, doing my best to act casual and still not bend them. It doesn’t matter that seventy percent of them are on cheap paper, folded and ripped already.
“Thank you, Patty.” My voice sounds curt. Nodding, I take the phone. She nods back, a small smile on her lips as she walks out and shuts the door.
“Hello?” I brace myself for my mother’s voice.
“Are you a snoop?” And I almost drop everything, phone, drawings, my stomach…
Because it’s not my mother.
It’s Mr. Powers.
JETT
Seated in my guest house, which is actually for my security team, I watch one of the screens intently. I have at least one bodyguard on my property, twenty-four-seven. They take care of everything, all the shit that comes with making enemies.
I’ve had plenty of death threats. I’m not the kind of man who plays. I pay my team a fortune, and in return I sleep better at night. My guest house is a two-story, 2,300-square-foot, four-bedroom, three-bath house, and one of the rooms is nothing but top-of-the-line security monitors and computers, allowing them, and me, to keep an eye on everything.
There are five men on my security team. I’ve handpicked either ex-CIA or Navy SEALs. They’re on a schedule, so one is here every day.
Right now, I’m the only one in the room as I watch my Lolita behaving like a very bad girl.
“What?” Her voice sounds breathy as she looks around, my sketches falling out of her hands as she spins around, looking for the cameras.
She won’t find them. They’re in the paintings, but watching her horror at being caught makes my lips twitch.
“Are you a snoop? A bad girl who invades others’ property?” My voice is almost a whisper as I zoom in on her face. She’s so beautiful, it almost takes my breath away. She closes her eyes, then opens them as she unknowingly faces the camera.