Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
“Don’t be so humble. I’m sure current-life you is on karma’s shit list too.” Kieran strode in, debonair and cocky—as a man who earned a hundred million pounds a year should be. “Apology accepted, by the way.”
“Apology not issued.” I tucked the cigarette behind my ear. “Do I need to call security, or do you want me to kick you out myself?”
He sauntered deeper into the room, over to the drink cart behind my desk, fixing himself a whiskey. I’d never seen Kieran Carmichael drink. He always struck me as a Patrick Bateman type. Someone who was too busy shoving decapitated heads into freezers to have a stiff one with a buddy. So this gave me pause.
“You should be thanking me, you know. My fake-kissing Cal snowballed into your hookup.” He poured himself two fingers of Hibiki, then raised the glass to his lips. “Had to give Lady Faith a little push. Neither of you had the balls to make the first move.”
“And you know Cal and I are together because…?” I tilted an eyebrow.
“She left me a three thousand–word text message relaying your entire night together, lip gloss flavor included.” He sipped his drink calmly.
“She didn’t,” I said, even though it sounded exactly like something Cal would do.
“Prime reading material, highly recommended,” he continued, picking up random shit on my desk, snooping in my stuff. “Probably wanted to send it to Dylan.”
Classic Cal move. For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine what life with her would be like. A ton of trips to the ER, foot-in-mouth scenarios, and spontaneous sex in exotic places. I’d sign on for this kind of life in a goddamn heartbeat.
“Now that you know she’s not up for grabs, stay the fuck away.” I itched to stand up and assert my power but also didn’t want him to see how territorial I was over Cal. She was a weakness, a blind side, a cruel reminder of my mortality.
“Trust me, Casablancas, there’s nothing I’d like more than to ignore your meaningless existence.” He finally propped against the doorjamb, looking bored with the entire situation. “Unfortunately, I can’t do that.”
“Because?” I rose up to my feet, treading toward him until we were face-to-face.
“First of all, I hear we’ll be neighbors next year. You’re moving to London.”
“London’s big, and my hate for you is even more infinite. Don’t worry, I won’t knock on your door asking for sugar.”
“Good. That shit’s toxic and I don’t consume it.” He plucked the cigarette from behind my ear, snapped it in two, and tossed it into the garbage. When Cal and Dylan weren’t around, he really let his real, asshole self come out. Strangely, I felt more comfortable with this version of him. The one that was mean to me growing up. At least I knew what I was dealing with.
“See, I needed to give you a good excuse to punch the daylights out of me yesterday,” he said, a grin spreading across his lips.
“Because of what happened when we were kids?”
“No, because I’m about to hit on your sister, whether you like it or not.”
I was torn between dislocating his nose again and fist-pumping the air.
He wanted Dylan? Was he fucking insane? I loved my sister, but she was a headache. Unruly, fiercely independent, mouthy as all hell, and impossible to manage. She was the hard to Cal’s softness. The ruthlessly bossy to her soft quirkiness. I was the first to like a challenge, but Dylan wasn’t a challenge. She was a Squid Game obstacle course that ended with you speared to a wall by rusty metal spikes. Plus, I knew she’d never go for a guy like him. He was too smooth around the edges, too well-mannered, too rich. Dylan would never go with the obvious choice. Her favorite ice cream flavor was butter pecan.
“She is engaged and pregnant,” I pointed out.
“And he is absent and stupid,” Kieran deadpanned, in the same businesslike, flat tone. “I remember Tucker Reid. He used to burn insects with a magnifying glass and wedgie your sister. She deserves better.”
“Agreed, but that applies to you too.” I pulled at his ridiculously ironed shirt. “You were a shit kid, who spent every waking moment reminding me that I was the poor son of an alcoholic.”
“Are you ever going to let the past go?”
“Why would I? The past tells us a lot about what we should expect from the future.”
“Ever wonder why I was the way I was?” he snapped, growling at me. “I was cruel because I was weak. My dad rode my ass six ways from Sunday about soccer, about becoming a star, being drafted to a European team in my teens. We weren’t as rich as you probably thought we were, and most of the money was poured into my sport anyway. I was under an immense amount of pressure. And there you were—popular, hot shit, straight-A student, and already interning at a Michelin-starred restaurant outside of town. You had it easy. Or at least, your nightmare wasn’t as elaborate as mine. Nobody put all their chips on you. Nobody told you that if you didn’t make it, your family would fall apart.”