Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“Do they?”
“I just happened to see the photos on a gossip site.”
“You just happened to see them?”
I nod and sip my drink. “I was actually checking to see if there were any updates on me, if you must know.”
He unpacks books and doesn’t answer my question.
Undeterred, I ask, “How does the fame thing affect you dating?”
“Was that the first time you’ve seen your ex since the night you threw him out?” he asks in return.
“If I answer your question, will you answer mine?”
He narrows his gaze on me and says nothing. And I keep my mouth shut and wait. Finally, he says, “Yes.”
“That was the first time I’ve seen Josh since that night. Though he did text me when the photos of you and me were everywhere. Called me a cheating bitch, if you can believe it.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he says in a low and deliberate voice. The vibes coming off him are beyond intense.
I don’t know what to say. No one has ever been quite this angry on my behalf.
“You should have let me punch the little shit.”
“He isn’t worth an assault charge. Though I appreciate you being willing to go there for me.”
“Did it upset you? Seeing him?”
“No. That part of my life, being with him, it feels a weirdly long way away. Like it was years ago. Guess a lot has happened in the meantime. Or maybe this week and the predictions and so on have just weirded out my emotions.” I take a sip of the champagne and think calm thoughts. “This is good.”
He sighs and allows me to move the conversation in a different direction. “It’s a vintage Krug Brut,” he says. “I thought you might like it.”
“You were right.” I smile. “Thank you.”
“It’s well-known for being great at washing down bugs.”
“Answer my question now.”
“I usually date people who know what they’re getting into. Professionals in the entertainment industry and such. They’re under similar pressures and know how to keep their mouths shut. Often, they have just as much to lose if the wrong thing goes public.”
“Makes sense.”
He pushes his dark hair out of his face and looks me over. From my sensible flat black boots to my dark blue jeans and white tee. “You look nice. I meant to tell you earlier. You always look lovely.”
“Thank you. So do you.” The way heat rushes to my face. I gesture to the boxes. “Have you read all these books?”
“Some. Others I bought and stored here for later.”
“You didn’t want your housekeeper or cleaner or someone unpacking the boxes for you?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t like the idea of someone going through my things.”
“I’m going through your things.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it? But what stopped you from doing it?” I ask. “Not just from setting up in here, but the rest of the house too?”
“I told you. I was busy.”
“For five years?”
“I don’t know, Lilah. It doesn’t matter.”
I just nod and let it go.
“You were going to tell me how you were doing with the great sex.” His expression is perfectly blank. Like he’s just making casual conversation. Jerk.
No way will I be shamed. “You know, you keep asking me that question like I don’t know how to work a vibrator or use a showerhead or my own hand. But I assure you I am quite proficient at all three.”
It takes him a moment to respond. “Fair enough.”
“As for bringing other people into the equation, I found a couple of reputable male escort agencies in the area. Meeting at a midrange hotel is apparently the way to go. Then when he arrives, you assess if there’s chemistry, and if you feel comfortable before—”
“Absolutely not,” he says adamantly, his accent thicker than normal.
“What?”
“You can’t have thought this through.”
“I assure you I have.” I just wait. And wait some more. Given his cranky gaze, he dislikes me using his own silence tactic. Sucks to be him.
“I just... There’s no need for you to be having sex with strangers.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not safe, Lilah.”
“It’ll be as safe as I can make it.”
“I don’t like it.”
I scoff. “You don’t need to like it. Signing off on my sex life is not your job.”
He stares at me, and I stare at him, and apparently no one is going to win this competition. Not anytime soon.
“Let’s talk about something else,” he says. “It’s your turn to ask a question.”
“Fine. Do you grill your other friends about their sex lives?”
“I’m not answering that. Ask me something else.” He drops some books on the floor. Poor books. “You wanted to know about my lunch yesterday. The best way to get the paparazzi off your back was to be seen with someone else. Constance has retired from modeling and is about to announce her new line of athletic wear. She was happy to have the press shadowing her to help get her name trending.”