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)
“We aren’t just fucking, Elliot,” I whisper.
“I know.”
“What are we?” I whisper again.
“Too tired for this conversation.”
I frown.
“Go to sleep, baby,” he murmurs, then kisses my cheek and holds me close.
Questions roll around in my psyche and yet, here in his arms, I feel safe.
Too tired for this conversation . . . What does that even mean?
It’s like I’m swimming out to sea with no sight of land. I know it’s dangerous, but I can’t get out of the rip tide as I get swept along. Perhaps I wouldn’t, even if I could.
The water is dark, but it’s too late. I’m too far from the shore to turn back.
My dearest Pinkie,
Tell me something interesting, my day is dull.
Ed
X
I smirk and look guiltily around my office. I really shouldn’t be speaking to Ed while I’m working, but my day is pretty dull too. We’ve got into the habit of speaking numerous times a day. Completely platonic of course, but fun nevertheless. If it wasn’t for the sarky sense of humor, I couldn’t reconcile that he and Elliot are the same person at all.
Dearest Ed,
There are two body parts on a human that never stop growing.
The nose and the ears.
Pinkie
X
A reply bounces straight back.
Pinkie,
I must say, I’m let down with your so-called interesting fact. Another mundane piece of information I didn’t need to hear.
Thankfully I’m blessed with perfection. Unfortunately I know that I can’t say the same for you.
Perhaps you should update your profile picture from a cat to an elephant now to evade catfishing more poor unsuspecting suitors.
I giggle. “You idiot.”
I type:
My dearest Pinocchio,
I am a very busy woman, doing a very important job.
Stop annoying me and go and tend to your garbage.
I smile and click out of my email. Edgar Moffatt, my sweet distraction.
Saturday night, Andrew drives through London; Elliot and I in the backseat.
“Do we really have to go?” I sigh. “I hate the thought of walking into this thing alone.” I’m dressed in a long, black, fitted evening gown, my hair is curled, and my makeup is natural. Elliot approves—I had to fight him off before we even left home.
“I told you already”—Elliot picks up my hand and kisses the back of it—“Miles Media have made a very generous donation and I have to be there for the presentation.”
“I guess.” I exhale heavily as I stare out of the window.
“I’ve arranged for us to be seated at the same table and we can leave as soon as the speeches are over.” He leans over and kisses me just below my ear to try and sweeten the blow. “Then we can go to your favorite restaurant.”
“You mean, your favorite restaurant,” I whisper. We’ve been to the private dining room twice, and each time I’ve ended up giving Casanova Miles a lap dance with a happy ending. Something about that place makes me putty in his hands.
Elliot gives me a slow, sexy smile. “Well, you do seem to enjoy yourself there.”
My eyes flick to Andrew—can he hear us?
I slide my hand up Elliot’s thick quad and dust my fingers over his crotch. His eyes hold mine and I feel a twinge beneath my touch as he flexes his dick.
“Why can’t we walk in together?” I whisper.
“You know why.” He kisses me softly.
“How long is this going to go on for?” I murmur into his mouth.
“You don’t want the attention that comes from dating me, Kathryn. Trust me on this.” He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “When it’s just me and you, nobody else can fuck this up,” he whispers.
I smile; he’s right. I nod, feeling a little better.
“Let me out here, Andrew, and drop Kathryn at the door please.”
“Yes sir.” The car pulls up to the curb.
Elliot takes a ticket out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and passes it to me. “Go inside, check the seating, and I’ll meet you at our table.”
I nod, my nerves beginning to thump. “Okay.” He kisses me quickly and gets out of the car and Andrew pulls back out into the traffic; we go around the corner and up the street and he pulls into a large circular driveway. He turns and smiles. “Here you go, Kate.”
“Thank you.” I get out of the car and walk up the oversized sandstone steps, hand my ticket to the doorman, and walk through the large archway. The ballroom is huge and extravagant, with big, round, candlelit tables and beautiful fresh flowers in arrangements. I walk through to the seating map and make my way to the table.
The table is already full except for three seats. “Hello.” I smile as I sit down beside a kind-looking couple.
“Hello,” everyone replies happily, and they all introduce themselves one by one. The waiter walks past with a silver tray full of glasses of champagne. I take one—hell . . . just leave the entire tray, please.