Repairing the Wreckage – Ruthless & Royal Read Online Autumn Jones Lake

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, MC Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
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No one could’ve predicted this level of fuckery, though.

All I wanted to do was make Molly’s life better. Instead, I made it worse. Forget the car. I hate that I made her last few weeks of school miserable because all her friends and classmates were watching the show.

And she never said a word in our brief phone calls. She couldn’t. But I should’ve been able to tell something was wrong.

That I might have lost her for good, doesn’t enter my mind. Molly knows me. Once I’m able to see her and talk to her, she’ll understand it was all fake.

Everything will be fine.

“I’m serious,” Jordan warns in a low voice. “Don’t.” He flicks his gaze to the ceiling. “Or at least be careful where.”

His cryptic warning isn’t hard to untangle. There are cameras recording us everywhere in this damn house.

While I had him on the phone, I should’ve asked Remy if they show footage from the bathrooms.

I’m losing my mind.

“I won’t,” I promise. Jordan’s not the one I’m mad at. He’s trying to earn a paycheck like everyone else. “Sorry.”

Racing footsteps squeak over the polished hallway floor behind me. I hold my hands in the air and take a few steps back. I glare at Jordan who’s shaking and looking anywhere but at my face. “Get me someone in charge to talk to—right fucking now.”

“What’s going on?” Venom says from behind me.

I turn and find his big frame blocking two of the camera guys and a production assistant from getting too close. It’s a small gesture but after the conversation I just had with Remy, gratitude floods my system. At least not everyone’s trying to stab me in the back. I nod my thanks to Venom, but Jordan’s warning still echoes in my ear.

“Nothing. I just need to talk to someone.”

There’s still a chance I can salvage this situation. Turn it around to somehow work in my favor. Repair my relationship with Molly. Or maybe I’m fucking delusional, and I’ve already lost everything.

I still have to try.

Our standoff in the hallway lasts for a few minutes. Enough time for Jordan to pull out his cell phone and frantically tap out a text. A few seconds later, he places a call.

I back away, giving him the illusion of privacy.

“What’s going on?” Venom murmurs close to my ear.

“I can’t talk about it.” I meet his eyes, hoping he’ll understand that if I could tell him, I would.

He nods slowly. “You better not be leaving.”

No words come to me. It would take too long to explain. I shake my head.

“All right,” Jordan snaps. “Paul’s going to meet us.”

I can’t remember which one of the many producers, production assistants, directors or whatever-the-fucks who have been wandering around the set Paul might be, but the tight set of Jordan’s mouth says he’s not happy about the visit.

Good, must be a suit with some juice.

“Let’s go.” Jordan tilts his head toward the hallway. To everyone else he says, “Go back to whatever you were doing.”

I nod at Venom. He frowns and backs away slowly. I wish I could warn him. Would the producers really stoop so low and fuck with his marriage?

No time to worry about Venom. I can’t help anyone if I don’t handle my own business first.

I follow Jordan to the other side of the house where there are fewer cameras and lights stationed in every corner. An area the contestants aren’t supposed to visit.

Apprehension thrums through my veins. This could be the end. The hard work and sacrifices I’ve made over the last few weeks could mean nothing if I get sent home.

Maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing.

Jordan stops at a door and knocks, then pushes the door open.

I vaguely recognize the guy behind the desk. A bland and unremarkable face to go with his potato-shaped build. Even his short, curly hair is the color of a russet potato’s skin. His tan suit doesn’t help, either. Arrogance surrounds him like a cloud of Axe body spray.

To the potato’s right, the show’s host, Matt, is awkwardly crammed in behind the desk. Potato didn’t even move over to make room for the star of the show. He must be important.

We usually only see Matt when someone’s getting kicked off the show. Even though there are no extra cameras in the office filming this showdown, it doesn’t mean I’m safe from getting sent home.

“Where’s Diane?” I ask, resting my hands on the back of the chair in front of the desk.

Potato’s lips tilt in an evil villain way I don’t care for. “We had a difference of opinion on the direction of the show.” He flicks his hand toward the closed door. “She’s off scouting new talent for another project. That’s really her area of expertise. Not this.”

Maybe Diane didn’t set me up after all. Or she doesn’t give a fuck.



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