Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
My boots are sitting neatly on the floor at the side of the bed, and my phone won’t stop ringing.
I answer it.
“Hello,” I mumble, willing my blinds to close themselves to prevent the bright light from seeping in.
“Good morning. Either let me in, or I’ll break the door down.”
I sigh at Eli’s demanding voice.
“Fine,” I say as I stand, the room swirling around me. Definitely never drinking again.
Managing to make it to the door, I fling it open to find him standing on the other side, nicely dressed in a suit. That’s when I look down at myself and realize I’m half-naked. I grumble because it’s all I can manage to do before I turn and head straight back to my room. He closes the front door and follows me.
Crawling straight back into bed, I pull the bed covers over my face and hope he’ll just go away. The bed dips under his weight, but he doesn’t say anything. He just shifts my head onto his lap and brushes his fingers through my hair. I want to fight him, but I just don’t have the energy, and the head stroking is nice.
I must fall back asleep, and when I wake up again, I peek out from underneath the blanket.
“Did you braid my hair last night?” I ask with a dry mouth.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies, staring down at me with a smug expression.
“That’s creepy.”
“Says the girl, peeking out from her blankets.”
Touché.
If someone asked me to describe Eli Monti when I first met him, patient would not be the first word to come to mind. But little by little, as I’m forced to understand him, I wonder if perhaps he’s only like this with me. I inwardly frown at that.
“Why are you here?” I ask. Most likely to torture me to death with the embarrassment of yesterday. I don’t even remember that much after leaving the shop. Did I give Rya Monti the thumbs up?
“One gun,” he says, and it’s enough to have me sitting up in a rush. He opens his jacket and reveals one of my handguns. My father bought it for me when I was thirteen. I love that one. “I wish your eyes lit up the same way when I reveal other things to you.”
“You better not be referring to your cock.”
He leans in with a smile. “What else would I be referring to?”
“If you want me to bounce on your cock in exchange for giving my guns back, no problem. Temporary truce now.”
He chuckles. “Not quite, Kitten. Though I appreciate the enthusiasm.”
“Then what do you want?” This asshole has had me jumping through hoops this whole time, but for him to actually offer up something important to me means he wants something he knows I’ll put up a fight against.
“Move in with me,” he says. All the excitement bleeds out of me, and I shuffle back under the covers and turn my back to him.
Is he fucking crazy? I’m not moving in with him. I don’t even like him. I’m still grappling with the notion that I have to marry him. Living with him was not part of the deal. Yes, I could buy other guns. And I could finish my job and just fucking end him, but that means I would never find my guns.
And I really, really want my guns back.
“Agree, and you can have the gun. It’s as easy as that. Besides, you already said my bed is comfy, and you’ve broken into my homes on more than one occasion. You might as well have a fucking key.”
My gaze narrows as I turn to face him. “Give me two guns.”
“One,” he growls, and I know that’s his final offer. I sigh.
“Is it the apartment or mansion?” I ask.
“Which do you prefer?”
“The one that’ll go up in smoke easiest when I burn it to the ground.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “The apartment complex should do nicely, then. You can get the other guns back when the deal is done, and we sign the divorce papers.”
Divorce papers. I try not to scoff as if this is going to end so smoothly. It’ll most likely end with one of us dead, and we both know it.
“Are you doing a prenup?” I inquire sweetly.
“Of course I am. My mother is a lawyer,” he says as if it should have been obvious.
“So you’ll add in there about the money you owe me and that I’ll definitely get my guns back?”
I wait for his response.
“No, because then she’ll know this is all fake.”
I cross my arms over my chest.
“That doesn’t work for me. You could kill me by the end or just divorce me and leave me with nothing I was promised.”
“I’ll pay you half right now.” He reaches for his phone and pulls it out.