Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 46231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
"I'll sleep naked."
He smiles, charmed by my willingness to make him regret leaving. "If you don't."
"Well… we can play who wears it better."
"Do you really think you can beat me?" His smile lights up his dark eyes.
My stomach flutters.
My heart thumps.
I cinch the middle button and strike a pose. "How do I look?"
"Dashing."
"But not perfect?"
"No." He reaches for his tie. "You need this." He drapes the pink around my neck and cinches a loose knot.
"Do you want it back?"
"Keep them. I have to go." He presses his lips to my neck. "Goodbye, Opal. It was a pleasure meeting you."
"You too."
He looks me over one more time, shakes his head damn, the injustice of the world, and he leaves.
I wait until the door slams shut then I do away with his shirt and tie.
I don't know what to do, so I shower away the day, I wrap myself in a fluffy towel, I slide into the soft silk sheets.
For a few minutes, I think of salvaging the rest of the night. Calling my friend Izzie and asking if she wants to go dancing or even come over here and watch Gossip Girl.
But I'm not ready to see anyone. I'm not ready to talk about this.
It's mine.
After another ten minutes of tossing and turning, I fall asleep.
I wake alone to a cold empty room and a note from Max, from last night.
Thank you for a satisfying evening. I'm sorry I had to end it early. I wish things were different.
The room is yours until check-out.
Help yourself to anything.
Take care,
Max
My ride home is quick. And cold. My heels aren't designed for January mornings. The dart from my rideshare (I refuse to use the service my brother hires—then he'll know where I go) to the apartment building is frigid.
The second I step inside, warm heat envelops me. It's too much, too hot. Not just because of my thick wool coat. Memories of Max threaten to send my temperature skyrocketing.
I push them aside. Perfect my story, the one I need to tell my brother.
Simon is my oldest brother and my legal guardian. At least, he was, until I turned eighteen. I grew up with my mom. I didn't know my father. I didn't believe her stories about him being a rich, powerful man, about wealth and power waiting for me.
But they were true. My father was the previous Mr. Pierce, an old money billionaire who didn't want anyone to know he knocked up the help. So he paid my mom to keep my heritage a secret. And, when she died, I found the paperwork to prove it.
The next day, I showed up here, at Simon's apartment (it once belonged to the previous Mr. Pierce). He didn't know he had a half-sister. He was as surprised as I was. But he welcomed me into his home, his life, his family.
He's caring, intelligent, more fun than he lets on, and incredibly over-protective.
Which is a massive problem at the moment.
If he knows I spent the night with an older man—I'm not sure how old Max is, only old enough Simon will object—
With a stranger—
Tied up in a stranger's hotel room—
He'll ground me for life. And, yes, technically, I'm an adult with a trust and the power to make my own choices. But this is his place, and he pays my tuition, and he—
Well, he's my favorite person in the world. He's everything I wanted in a father. And just like I imagined when I was a kid, I'm terrified of disappointing him.
I take a deep breath and practice my story.
I spent the night with Izzie. We didn't do anything special. The usual. She's still asleep but I have homework. The semester started last week, you know. And the school promised a replacement for Professor Barba by the end of the week. No doubt, he's going to assign two-hundred pages of reading to make up for the missed classes.
It's perfect. True enough—Professor Barba did die suddenly, and I am sad to lose him—and focused enough on acing schoolwork to distract Simon from the whole did you fuck someone last night thing.
After another deep breath, I climb the stairs and let myself into the apartment. The massive penthouse is quiet except for a familiar song. One of those mid-aughts pop numbers Simon and Vanessa play.
I get it. They attended high school together when this song was popular. Simon wants to hit his girlfriend's nostalgia buttons. That checks out.
But how can Vanessa and Simon, both the picture of refined elegance, swoon over Collide?
I guess it's kind of fun, in an over-the-top sappy way, like a CW show. It's not enjoyable if I take it seriously, but if I let go and embrace the ridiculous?
Thrill ride.
Unfortunately, Simon is only lost in the music for about five seconds. He notices me immediately.
"Morning." He looks up from his spot on the couch. "How was Izzie?" His voice stays even and utterly without suspicion.