Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
He sets his glass down and crosses his arms as his eyes sweep my form. And I force myself to look away. I have to. If I don’t, I’ll forever beat myself up over how I let this man dominate me, and this situation.
Not today.
No fucking way. I’m so over these entitled men thinking they’re everything because they have a penis, and women like these allow them to feel this way and just take whatever they dish out. So what if it doesn’t matter that he’s a guitar hero, or that he has a body to die for covered in tattoos.
Pathetic.
My eyes dart over to the stupid delivery guy laughing with the two, three, no, there’s four women, most of them naked out at the pool.
Jesus, this is no joke, he really is having an orgy.
“Hey, clit girl.” His commanding voice makes my eyes dart back to his as he flashes me a grin that I’m sure makes ninety-nine percent of women lose their minds.
“You couldn’t find that spot if I directed you…” He sings my song.
My song.
And I’ve had it.
“You shit,” I spit out, only to see him arch a brow as I jerk my hood off. For a split second his deep blue eyes turn dark as his eyes trail up and down me like I’m his to feast on, and my stomach dips and adrenaline floods me.
“Malcolm told me you were this…Rock God. That you wanted to produce my album. But I wouldn’t let someone so unprofessional go near my artistic—”
“That’s Granger,” he cuts me off, voice flat, and anything I thought I saw in his eyes is gone.
“What?” I snap.
“I’m not the Rock God. I’m the Ace of Spades, or you can call me Sir…Daddy, even?”
Daddy? Sir? The fuck? “This was a gigantic mistake; clearly you’re less of a musical genius and more of a sex addict—”
“How do you know what I am? You march in here, uninvited, spying on me in my own house, accusing me of things you have no clue what you’re talking about. Now, I told Malcolm I won’t work with a Diva, and he assured me you weren’t.” He snorts, “So, let me make this clear, I don’t want there to be any confusion. You are everything that I find offensive in this business. So, good luck, I wouldn’t produce even one note with you. Even if you got on your knees and begged me.” His eyes narrow on me as I try and breathe.
“You’re unbel—” He cuts me off as his eyes dip down to my lips.
“Actually, hold that thought. I like begging and women on their knees...” He takes a step closer, and my brain screams red alert because I can feel his body heat, smell his scent. My arms pebble with goosebumps, even with me wearing the zip-up hoodie, but what makes me want to grab one of his knives on his kitchen island is the fact that I’m fucking wet, almost achy. I can’t remember a time that has ever happened.
“You…” I puff out, feeling my face burn. “You…” Hating that my voice cracks, but I’m angry—strike that, I’m livid with him, and myself. Jesus Christ, why would I be even slightly attracted to him?
“You already said that, baby.” And my stomach drops. It’s got to be that his voice is deep and growly?
“No, you…you told me to come here.” I straighten my shoulders back as I make myself break eye contact. I have to as I look over at the girls who are lounging in the doorway watching this whole debacle.
“Jesus. I hope you had all of them sign an NDA while they were getting STD testing.” I point at the group of women because the last thing I need is this shitshow leaked and all over the tabloids.
“Get out.” He reaches for his glass, turning his back on me, as he walks toward them. My brain is not fully working, I guess, since I’m just standing frozen as I stare at his broad shoulders and muscled back—the very back that has a giant guitar and a viper wrapped around it tattooed on the majority of his skin. Yep, that’s him alright.
Vicious and poisonous.
I spin, forcing myself to move as I repeat just walk, don’t run. I chant over and over. What is happening to my life?
I’m literally spiraling, like was this some kind of sick joke? God, now I’m being paranoid, but you get screwed enough, you naturally develop trust issues.
No, I can’t believe Malcolm would set me up. For starters, he makes too much money off me.
This is all Ammo…well, he picked the wrong day and wrong girl.
“Go fuck yourself, Marshall Ammo Adams,” I scream and shove a giant glass vase filled with flowers to the floor as I make my way to the door.