Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
“You should see that I actually care what you think by keeping you here,” he says. “It’s important that you believe me, Whitney.”
There’s something in his eyes—those piercing blue eyes that seems to penetrate me in this moment and make me feel a way I never expected to feel from a man like him.
“Why…?” I ask slowly. “You barely even know me. You didn’t even know me until now.”
“And that’s just it,” he says, stepping closer to me. “You were willing to come here and shoot ketchup on me, disrupt my product unveiling, all because of something untrue that you heard. And that just doesn’t sit right with me.”
This whole moment—this entire conversation—feels like a dream to me. He’s really looking at me, like he’s trying to look into me. Like he…wants me?
But that can’t be. I’m just a college dropout, and he’s Ethan Newhouse, the world-famous billionaire playboy who has dated international models and movie stars.
And why would I care if he wants me anyway? Until five seconds ago, I absolutely hated this man’s guts. And I still do, right?
Right?
“Come back to my house with me,” he says. “I’ll prove it all to you.”
“What? What are you—?”
“I’ll show you the PR attack Justin has been launching against me,” he continues, his voice firm and intense. “And you’ll have no choice but to believe me.”
“No choice?” I repeat. Something about his word choice has me on the defensive. Again, these billionaires with their I-rule-the-world attitude. “Yeah, sorry. I don’t think so. I think I’ll go home. That is, unless you’re going to keep me locked in this room all night?”
A discouraged look comes over Ethan’s face, but he shakes his head and goes to the door and opens it. “No. No, you’re free to go.”
“Thank you,” I say. I walk quickly past him, and as I do, he raises the ketchup bottle at me.
I cry out and flinch, raising my hands in expectation of being coated in condiment, but the squirt never comes. Ethan chuckles, and I look down to see the cap still on the bottle. He was only kidding.
“Come on,” he laughs. “I would never do that to you. Contrary to what you may have heard, I am actually a gentleman.”
I don’t even know what to say at this point, so I just give him my best scowl and leave the room.
The auditorium is empty now, aside from a few members of staff cleaning up, and I make my way quickly out to the front and down the block to where my car is parked, the events of this evening replaying through my mind.
Could Ethan actually be telling the truth? Could Justin Hathaway really be behind a sabotage campaign to ruin Newhouse International’s public image? It sounds like something out of a television show or something, but after seeing how concerned Ethan was with having me believe him, I’m actually starting to wonder.
After all, it’s not like I’m a member of the press or something. He had to know that my badge was a fake—just something I used so I could get into the event to try and disrupt things. And it’s not like I’m some massive social media influencer with tons of clout that he could win over to his side with a quick five-minute conversation either. So if he wasn’t telling the truth, why bother with bullshitting me in the back room?
It’s just because he’s hot, Whitney. Don’t be stupid.
I’m questioning my sanity as I come around the corner to where my car is parked and stop dead in my tracks. All four tires of my car are completely flat like someone has let the air out of them.
“Oh my God,” I say. “What the hell?”
I walk closer as though that’s going to make any difference. But sure enough, they’re all flat. There’s no way my car is going anywhere tonight.
I have roadside assistance, I’m pretty sure, but I’ve never had to use it. This means I’m going to have to call my dad, who’s probably already in bed, and ask him what in the world I do, how to get it towed, and a million other questions.
My heart sinks.
“Oh, no…”
“Looks like you’re in a bit of a fix there,” a voice says from behind me. I spin around and see Ethan Newhouse standing behind me, a smile on his face, leaning casually against a streetlamp.
“You…” I say slowly. “You did this?”
“Me?” he replies innocently, pointing at himself. “What do you mean? I was in the back talking to you.”
There’s truth to what he’s saying, but there’s also something sly and guilty in his eyes at the same time.
I absolutely hate the fact that he looks like an old-time Hollywood movie star right now the way he’s leaning there smiling at me, devastatingly charming and handsome. Heat swims through my belly and out into my limbs as he drags his eyes up my body with absolutely not a single ounce of shame.