Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
When I heard the noise, knowing we were the only ones on this floor, I opened my door to make sure everything was okay. Big mistake. My door creaked loud enough to grab Braxton’s attention. His gaze met mine—a mixture of anger and indifference—and I had no choice but to stand in place and watch them walk past me. The alternative would’ve been to quickly close my door, which would’ve shown Braxton I was affected. The last thing I need to do is lower my guard and risk him using it to fuck with me.
Gage and the women go in first, but Braxton stops just outside the doorway. His eyes meet mine, and I hold my breath, waiting for the blow to come. He stares at me, and my heart thumps in my chest, wondering what’s going through his head. If he’s thinking about how much I hurt him. It’s been six years, and he still hates me so much. Not that I blame him, but I thought time healed all wounds and all that...
“Brax, c’mon!” a woman yells. “I’m naked and waiting!”
“Coming,” he says, his eyes not leaving mine. “We’re going to need some lube... and condoms. I prefer Trojan.”
For a second, my brain doesn’t comprehend what he’s saying... that he’s saying it to me. Until he adds, “Learned a while back that condoms are a must. Never know who else the person you’re fucking has fucked.” And then it hits me like a train going full speed without any working brakes—he wants me to go get him the lube and condoms. And he’s referring to me being the person he was fucking and not knowing who else I was fucking. The accusation stings, but I refuse to let him see that.
“I’m not your errand girl. If you want that shit, go get it your damn self.”
He releases a sharp laugh, then stalks toward me, stopping so close I can smell the liquor on his breath and the smoke from the casino. But beneath the liquor and smoke, there’s another scent, one I would recognize anywhere. It’s the cologne I bought him for Christmas—our one and only Christmas together. It smells fresh and masculine and brings back memories of every time he would wear it when we were together.
Images of me snuggling against him, inhaling his scent, and kissing his flesh surface, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “You’re wearing the cologne I got you.”
Braxton flinches but quickly composes himself, his glare intensifying. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a hundred-dollar bill, reminding me of his request. When he extends his hand, trying to give it to me, and I don’t take it, he steps closer, invading my space. “Condoms and lube... now.”
“I’m not your errand girl,” I repeat, jutting my chin out in defiance.
His finger and thumb pinch my chin, lifting my face to look at him, and my breath hitches. It’s been six years since we’ve been this close, since he’s touched me, and I’ve missed it... missed him... every single day.
“If you ever want to get another job in this industry,” he says, his mouth mere inches from mine, “you’ll be whatever the fuck I want you to be.” He reaches around and slides the bill into my back pocket. “Don’t make this shit harder than it needs to be.”
Without waiting for me to respond, he releases my chin and turns his back on me, sauntering back to his room while I stand, frozen in shock, wondering what the hell happened to the man I used to know. Was it the fame? The fortune? And then, I’m overtaken with a bout of guilt as a thought occurs to me. Was it me and what I did to him... to us that’s caused him to be like this? Am I the reason he’s now a cold, heartless, womanizing bastard?
Tears prick my lids. It’s one thing for me to hurt—it’s nothing less than I deserve—but the thought, that after six years, Braxton’s still hurting because of me, because of my actions, is like liquid guilt being injected straight into my vein, spreading through my bloodstream like acid and burning me from the inside out.
I let a couple of tears fall before I inhale a deep breath and swipe them away. I don’t deserve to cry, and doing so is a waste of time anyway. What’s done is done, and there’s no going back.
With my head held as high as I can manage, I head down to the hotel store and get the items he’s requested and then take them up to him. Thankfully, he’s not the one who opens the door. Gage is. He’s clearly high and maybe drunk, but that doesn’t stop him from giving me a look of sympathy before he thanks me and closes the door.