Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
And I don’t. I do not welcome her. She’s a burden I can’t cut loose. There’s enough blood on my hands already. I don’t need her grisly murder on my conscience.
I can tell once she starts slowing down that she’s had enough. She also managed to drink most of the bottle and is a little clumsy when she gets up from the table. “What now?”
I can see through the false bravado. She’s still scared. That shows she has good sense. What a shame she didn’t have enough sense to tell her loser brother to get fucked when he needed her help. I have half a mind to tell her he isn’t worth the risks she takes, but I don’t enjoy banging my head against the wall.
“Now, I’m taking you back to the room, where you will spend the night behaving yourself like a good girl.”
“You make me sound like a pet.” She hiccups softly. “Are you sure I shouldn’t be in a cage?”
You are in a cage.
But that cage is in place to protect you, not hold you hostage. Keeping that thought to myself, I wait until we’re back in the elevator to answer. “Are you going to behave, or aren’t you? Because I could easily assign a guard to your suite if you need a little motivation.”
She leans against the wall and blows out a heavy sigh. “Sure. I’ll be a good girl.”
I hope she plans on sticking to her word as I punch in the code to unlock the elevator panel. When I look her way again, she has pushed away from the wall and taken a step toward me. “Do you like good girls, Mr. Grant?” she asks in a tone I haven’t heard from her before. There is a seductive note in her voice that has blood rushing straight to my dick.
She takes another step, eating up the distance between us. Her flowery scent fills my nose as she lifts her hand to run a finger down my collar. Her gaze falls to my lips before she pushes up on her tippy-toes.
I’m certain she’s about to kiss me. But I’m uncertain about what to do.
The elevator stops, taking the decision away from me. The door slides open, and Teagan steps away.
“That’s me,” she beams. “Thanks for dinner.” And with that, she’s gone. Speed walking down the hall to her suite like she didn’t just try to kiss me. Maybe I’m just so rusty that I misread the situation?
Or it could be I’ve underestimated her.
TEAGAN
There are some positives about being forced to stay in a fancy hotel suite.
Like the bed. The very big, extremely comfortable bed that must have cost a fortune. A bed that feels more like a cloud that adjusted itself to every curve and contour of my body. When I first wake up, I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want anything to break into the total comfort I’m wrapped in. Every inch of my body is relaxed, soothed.
Except my brain. My brain is about a million miles away from relaxed.
3-5-1-8. That was the code for the elevator. Mason needs to be more careful if he wants to keep certain secrets. Sure, by the time we finished dinner last night, I was pretty seriously buzzed, but my eyes were still working. My head was a little fuzzy, but I could still think. I don’t know when I will get the chance to try the code for myself. I only know I’m going to.
But not just yet. I’ve never slept in a bed like this, even back before my parents died. No way could we ever have afforded it or the unbelievably soft sheets that caress my skin like a lover’s touch, and the chance is even lower now with what my life turned into. And Mason asked why I work at a grocery store. How out of touch can he be? What do I want to do with my life? Since when does that matter?
I would have told him the whole truth if I had been just a little more buzzed. What do I want to do with my life? I want a life where I don’t have to feel guilty that my brother gave up his chance at a future to raise me. A life where I can have a career—one I actually enjoy. That’s what I want. I want a life free of that burden. But that’s not going to happen, and that’s okay. I can still be happy. I don’t need a fancy house, fast cars, and a cloud-like bed. Sure, those things are nice, but they’re not necessary to enjoy your life.
Mason has everything I don’t have, yet he doesn’t act any happier than I am. As a matter of fact, he is a little bit of a grumpy pants. Yes, Mr. Grumpy Pants fits him better than Mr. Grant.