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)
“Oh? And why would you assume that?” I ask.
“Just the way you think,” he retorts. My blood boils, and I march straight over to him and snatch the whiskey bottle out of his hand. I have to stop myself from hurling it straight through the window as I glare daggers at him.
“Excuse me?” I snap, feeling so heating it’s like I have a volcano somewhere inside me ready to blow. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Ethan just smiles, looking completely unfazed by my anger. “Well, the way you think about me,” he says. “It’s very simplistic. You don’t want to hear anything I have to say. You said you did, but as soon as we got here, you just went on the attack.”
I stare back at him for a few seconds as the anger stews inside of me but then have no choice but to breathe a deep sigh.
He’s right. I did come here hoping to be convinced that every terrible thing I’d heard about him was just bad PR from Justin Hathaway, but I haven’t done a very good job at being open to that. In fact, I’ve been on the offensive since the second I walked through his front door.
“Okay, fine,” I say, slowly handing him back his whiskey bottle. He takes it and pours himself a half a glass and motions for me to join him on the couch. If this was a date, he would be doing a great job right now making himself look attractive. In fact, if I took a photo of him right now and put it on whatever dating app he chose to use, he would get every girl in the universe swiping on him—of course that would happen anyway, considering who he is.
“So what makes you hate guys like me so much?” he asks, taking a sip.
“You have to know,” I reply. “Men like you make your wealth from either inheriting it, being born to privilege, or exploiting others on the way up.”
“Well none of those things are true for me,” he replies quickly. “I was born broke to a single mom and worked for everything I have.”
“Is that right?” I ask. I’m eyeing him skeptically, but I want to believe him.
“It sure is.” He nods. “My first business was selling T-shirts at my high school. I hired other kids just like me who also had no money, and that’s how we avoided having to get summer jobs like everybody else.”
He takes another sip of his drink and doesn’t hide the fact that he’s checking me out. A muscle just beneath his left eye ticks as his gaze reaches my breasts. I’m not even wearing anything revealing tonight. Most of my body is hidden beneath my windbreaker, yet I still feel somehow exposed in front of him.
My face is hot. After that comment he made back when he was making his drink at the bar, I feel like I have something to prove to him, while at the same time I’m still desperate to learn more about him.
There’s definitely some kind of chemistry at work here between us, and that has my hormones surging like I never expected.
This is not how I ever imagined my night going.
“I had odd jobs from there, and I’m sure you know my first major venture was the app that helped people find clothes that fit their style and price.”
“The one you sold to Google that made you a multi-millionaire,” I say.
He nods. “That’s right.”
“And I suppose you think that’s helping humanity? Making it easier for a bunch of suburban kids to pick out their clothes for their upcoming year at school?”
“No,” he replies. “But the enormous donations my company made to third world countries and housing the homeless here in the West certainly did.”
I purse my lips and frown. He seems to have an answer for everything, and I’m not sure if I’m happy or mad about that, seeing as how I’m not the kind of girl who takes being wrong very well. I’m also not great at losing arguments.
But as he takes another sip of his drink, I can’t stop the images of him on top of me from invading my mind. I’ve never met a man so sure of himself in my life. It’s like he was literally looking forward to having this conversation with me just so he could prove me wrong and destroy every preconceived notion I had about him.
My body is hot, and it has nothing to do with the temperature of the house.
“And why didn’t I hear about those donations?” I ask. My mouth is dry. I wish I’d asked for a glass of water when he was at the bar, but I was too eager to launch my assault on him.
“I’m not a Hollywood actor, Whitney.” He smiles. “I don’t feel the need to publicize each and every one of my good deeds.”