Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“Dinner. Wine. Conversation.”
“And that’s all?”
He looks amused. “Do you want more?”
I get the feeling that it wouldn’t be a problem if I did.
But then I remember that this is Nico, and this date is probably some sick part of his evil plan that I won’t see coming until it’s too late.
“No, dinner and wine sound perfect,” I say lightly.
“Not the conversation?”
“Like I said, dinner and wine sound perfect.” I grin while he looks at me like I exhaust him. “Give me ten minutes to get ready?”
“You have five.”
I scoff because we both know he’ll wait as long as it takes for me to dress since he thinks he can annihilate my ass on the court. I race upstairs to change.
The closest thing I have to workout clothes is a pair of shorts and a tank top with a sugar skull on the front, although I did pack my sports shoes. I pull my hair back into a high ponytail and can’t resist adding a touch of gloss to my lips because I want to look hot when I kick his ass.
As I leave my room, Nico watches me from the kitchen. I feel his eyes sweep up and down my legs and linger on my chest. His face is impassive. Blank. But his dark eyes don’t hide the heat. He likes what he sees, and it annoys him. Which makes me happy.
Kinda makes me feel like I’ve already won.
I grin. “Ready?”
Nico drives us to the gym. Today’s car is a sleek, midnight-blue sportscar with a gleaming dashboard of chrome and leather. It’s lit with blue backlights and reminds me of a spaceship.
“Wow,” I say, sliding in. The leather feels buttery and opulent. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“There isn’t. This is custom.” With a push of a button, the engine purrs, and we glide through the parking garage like we’re traveling on angel wings.
“They made this car for you? I didn’t realize car companies did that sort of thing.”
“You can have anything for the right price.” He slides on a pair of sunglasses. “And I can afford the right price.”
“Of course, you can.” My sarcasm isn’t lost on him, and as we enter the busy Manhattan street, a ghost of a smile flickers on his lips before it quickly vanishes.
The gym is in the Sky Tower in Manhattan. It’s on the ground floor, and the moment we step inside, people begin to fall over themselves to acknowledge Nico.
A fit, middle-aged man in shorts and a tight polo shirt opens the door for him. Behind the reception counter, two beautiful blonde women offer him their sunniest grins as they enthusiastically welcome him. Not us. Him. Because it feels like I’ve just walked into this place with a rock star. Every head is turned by his arrival. A group of women sitting in the little coffee area to the left of the reception area all look up and stare as we walk by. Even the men at another table stop talking to watch.
“Hello, sir,” a petite brunette says shyly as she walks past.
Sir?
Oh, please.
Nico offers her a wink, and her cheeks flush.
As we pass through the reception area and into a hallway, two women in activewear can barely contain their excitement as we walk past. If Nico notices, then he doesn’t show it. His poker face is firmly in place.
On the other hand, I can’t help but notice all the eyes on us as we walk by the massive workout room and into a hallway leading to the racquetball courts.
Nico leads me to a court separated from the others. It is only accessible through a glass door and has a private viewing room.
“Let me guess, this is for VIPs only,” I say, dropping my bag on a leather chair. It even smells nice. Not a hint of sweat in the air. More like wealth and power with a smidge of pompousness.
“No, this is my private court,” he says, placing his gym bag on the sleek glass table and removing his gym jacket.
“You have your own court?”
“Like I said, Bella, for the right price, you can have anything.”
Including me, I suddenly think.
An all-too-familiar resentment tightens in my chest, and all of a sudden, kicking his ass becomes the most important thing in the world.
“You ready?” he asks.
“To mop the floor with you? Hell, yes.”
Again, a ghost of a smile plays on his lips and quickly vanishes.
I follow him onto the racquetball court.
Nico serves with so much power the ball ricochets off the wall and flies past me with impossible speed.
He snickers, and I glare at him. “I’m just warming up.”
His next serve is just as powerful, but this time, I’m ready for him, and I hurtle it back to the wall. It doesn’t take us long to find our rhythm. He’s good, very good, but I don’t have any problems keeping up. If I didn’t hate him so much, I would actually admit to enjoying it.