Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 135799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“I’m not in a relationship with my flatmate, Andrew.”
“I know, dear.” He takes my hand and opens the door just a little; two huge security guards stand at the edge of my porch. “Ready,” he calls.
“Ready.” They spread their legs wide as if preparing for battle.
Andrew opens the door and puts a black umbrella up, facing it toward the paparazzi who are running across the street, effectively blocking their view of me.
“Now,” he snaps. He pulls me by the hand. “Keep your head down.”
“Kate,” I hear them all cry as they clamber around us. “Miss Landon, how is your husband?”
A million questions are being screamed as I am whisked at speed along the pavement.
“Back off,” one of the security guards yells. He pushes a photographer hard in the chest and he falls onto his backside.
I begin to get jostled from side to side as they close in. “Run,” Andrew yells.
My heart is hammering in my chest, and we make it to the car and I dive into the backseat. Andrew climbs in behind me and the door slams shut.
The photographers all surround the car as they yell out to me, and the security guards jump in and one begins to drive. “You’re going to hit them,” I cry.
He doesn’t reply, and he doesn’t stop. He just drives straight through the middle of them and somehow, they part and let us through.
I look back at my apartment and sadness fills me; how the hell is Daniel going to get out? “Can you please go back and help my friend Daniel out tomorrow?”
Andrew nods. “Yes, of course.”
I wring my hands together nervously on my lap. “After you drop me at Elliot’s, can you deliver my suitcase to my brother’s house?”
“Yes, of course.”
I nod as adrenaline surges through my body like a freight train.
We fly through the streets of London and, for the first time, I understand why Elliot guards his privacy so stringently. Why he doesn’t give them an inch to work with.
This is an absolute fucking nightmare.
We drive into the underground parking lot at Elliot’s luxury apartment; the security gates close behind us and the car pulls up in front of the elevator. The guard parks the car and we all get out. “Thank you,” I whisper.
The burly guards walk over to the elevator. “I’m fine from here.” The guards ignore me and walk into the elevator. “What are you doing?” I ask as I look at them in turn.
“We’ve been instructed to deliver you in person, Miss Landon.”
I stare at them and Daniel’s words from when I first met Elliot Miles come back to me: he’s a powerful man and not someone I would mess with.
Suddenly I’m very aware that if Elliot Miles wants me delivered in person, I no longer have a choice. If I told them that I wasn’t going up to his apartment right now, they would make me go, regardless.
A million things are running at full speed through my head, but the blazing emotion is . . . loss of control.
We ride to the top floor in silence and the doors open into Elliot’s foyer, where he’s waiting. His eyes find mine and he smiles softly, as if relieved.
“Thank you,” he says to the guards; he opens the door to his apartment and I walk in.
I stand in the middle of his living room, determined to be strong.
This man has brought me to my knees for the last time.
Elliot’s eyes hold mine and he stares at me as if I’m a wild animal, about to run at any moment.
“I’m sorry about that,” he whispers.
I nod.
“Can I get you . . . anything to drink?”
“No.”
He puffs air into his cheeks as if lost for words. “Are you going to sit down?”
My eyes hold his and I just want to hurt him, for hurting me.
For putting me through this fucking bullshit.
“We need to talk, sweetheart,” he whispers.
“For God’s sake, Elliot,” I yell, “don’t call me that. It’s no longer a term of endearment, it makes me a laughing stock. It’s you, taking advantage of my affection. Do not ever fucking call me sweetheart again!”
His face falls. “I had to go . . . you know I had to go.”
I stare at him.
“You told me to go,” he cries. “I asked you what to do, and you told me to go.”
“I told you to follow your heart,” I scream.
He clenches his jaw, unsure what to say.
“How long have you known it was me? How long have you been lying to me?”
“You knew Edgar was me all along, you’ve been lying to me,” he says. “I told you who I was immediately.”
“How long?” I throw up my hands.
“You told me all about Edgar Moffatt the night when you were high on meds. You even showed me his messages on your phone.”