Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Of course, there it is. He doesn’t really have an answer for shutting me down. He’s working on that right now as we speak. “I’ll speak on Mary Morrison in the meeting.”
My intercom buzzes. “Damion, you have Alana in the lobby.”
Damn it, Alana, I think. Not here. My father’s brows shoot up and he calls out, “Send her back,” and then to me, “This is well timed. I can get the facts from your perfect fuck’s own perfect mouth.”
I stand up, a fury inside me that is barely contained, and rarely unleashed, but it’s a part of me. Not a part of me I’m proud of, but I’ll embrace when necessary. “Do not speak of Alana in that way or any way, not now, not in the board meeting, not to her face, or otherwise, or I promise you, you will not like how I react.”
“And how, exactly, will you react?” he challenges, his tone amused, but there’s a twitch in his left hand, a tell sign few know but me. He’s uncomfortable, really fucking uncomfortable, and I like him that way.
“I’m my father’s son and therefore I’m not a man with many limits, if any. You should be afraid but proud.”
There’s a knock on the door and a moment later, Alana pokes her head in the room. The minute she spies my father, she says, “Oh, sorry. I can come back.”
Yes, Alana, I think. Go. Go now.
“Come in,” my father says. “Come in, Alana.” He’s turned to face her now, waving her forward, into the deep, deep dark of the proverbial woods where he lurks and hunts, which is anywhere he can find her, apparently.
She steps inside and glances from him to me, her eyes meeting mine, and I swear I feel her unease, but I also feel the punch of our connection. How I think I could ever stay in the same city, let alone country, and keep my distance from her, I do not know.
“Hi,” she says softly to me.
“Alana,” I say, a soft warning in her name.
“Tell me,” my father begins, “What are you doing with Mary Morrison, Alana?”
My eyes narrow on Alana, a message of caution in their depths. She draws in a breath and glances at my father. “We’re friends. I sold her a property and she’s a fan of my show. Why?”
I round the desk and stand next to her. “Because my father is a lonely man who needs a woman, and he wants dating advice.”
My father’s irritation tics in his jaw while Alana jumps right on my bullshit. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she says. “She’s a widower, but I’m fairly certain she’s dating a man I heard is billionaire.”
“Tough luck, Dad, but we have dinner reservations. We’re leaving.” My eyes meet my father’s. “I’ll see you in the board meeting tomorrow.”
“Yes, you will, son.” His lips curve and he eyes Alana. “Have a nice dinner, Alana.”
There is something in the way he looks at Alana that does not sit well. A mix of protectiveness and possessiveness rip through me. I catch her hand and the second I’m holding her, I know I cannot let her go again, not until this over. She’s not leaving my side.
We exit my office, and I lead her through the hallway and lobby, and I don’t stop until we’re in an elevator.
When we’re in the car and the doors shut, Alana turns to me. “What was—”
“Not here,” I say firmly. “Not in this building.”
She sucks in a breath and nods before she turns forward again. I’m still holding her hand and she glances down at it and then me, and I don’t shutter my stare. I don’t hide the dark side of me still clawing at me, or the protectiveness I feel for her. This is the part of me that will do whatever it takes to survive and to protect her.
The elevator dings and the doors open, her gaze jerking forward.
We step outside of the West Tower and into the bustle of New York City, and I guide her left. Alana’s hair flutters in the wind, her sweet, floral perfume teasing my nostrils and the part of me that wanted to throttle my father quite literally upstairs needs an outlet for that rage, and that outlet is her.
“Where are we going?” she asks, tugging me to a halt.
I turn to her, catch her to me and I’m on edge, still in that part of me that doesn’t have kind and gentle in me. “To my place to fuck unless you have a problem with that.”
“No,” she says, defiance in her eyes that tells me she will not be intimidated by my directness. “I don’t have even a small problem with that. Let’s go fuck in your apartment. I think it’s what we both need.”
It’s not what I expect from Alana, but I like it. I catch her hand again and set us in motion. Alana thinks she likes this side of me, but she doesn’t know what she’s getting into. She doesn’t have to know either, I remind myself. I can shelter her, and I will. Unless she’s naked. That’s a whole other story.