Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
“No,” I gritted out.
“No?” He cocked his head to the side, like he didn’t hear me right, and dang it, he looked good doing it.
“Is this word new to you?” I squared my shoulders. “No amount of money is going to make the fact I hate your guts disappear.”
“One hundred fifty K might,” he said, unblinking.
Does he need a hearing aid?
His eyes were so dark blue they sparkled like rare sapphires. He thought it was a negotiation. He was wrong.
“It’s not about the money, Vicious.” I felt my teeth grinding together. “Do you want it in another language? I can write it down for you or even communicate it in the form of a dance.”
His mouth twisted into something that resembled a smirk, but it failed to last. “I forgot how fucking fun it is to piss you off. I’m throwing in an apartment within walking distance of the job. Fully furnished and paid for throughout your employment.”
I felt the blood rush between my ears. “Vicious!” Would it be too much to punch him?
“And a nurse who will be on call for Rosie. Twenty-four fucking hours a day. That’s my final offer.” His jaw ticked once.
We stood in front of each other like two warriors about to wield our swords, and a sob caught in my throat because, goddammit, I wanted to take the deal. What did that make me? Weak, immoral, or simply insane? More than likely, all three.
This man had driven me out of California, out of my mind. Now he was hell-bent on hiring me. On elbowing his way back into my life. It didn’t make sense. He wasn’t a friend. He didn’t want to help. His proposition was littered with red flags.
I tried to slam my key into the lock again but couldn’t find the keyhole in the dark. Which reminded me I had an electricity bill to pay. Three of them, actually. Fun, fun, fun.
“What’s the catch?” I croaked as I turned to face him, rubbing my forehead, frustrated.
He brushed his knuckles over his cheekbone, amusement dancing in his pupils. “Oh, Help, why must there always be a catch?”
“Because it’s you.” I knew I sounded bitter. I didn’t care.
“It may entail some tasks that won’t make it into your contract. Nothing too seedy, though.”
I cocked an eyebrow. That didn’t sound too reassuring.
He quickly caught my drift. “Nothing sexual either. You’ll be happy to know, I still see more ass than a proctologist. For free.”
For some stupid reason, my heart leapt when I read between the lines. Vicious was single. No girlfriend if he was still enjoying meaningless flings. Vicious was too proud a man to be a cheater. He was an ass, but a loyal one nonetheless.
“And why me?”
“The fuck does it matter?”
“It does to me,” I bit out, a last ditch effort to walk away from this deal. “And also, because I’m a terrible PA. Terrible. I once sent the accountant I worked for to a meeting with another company’s file, and I nearly booked his wife a flight to Saint Petersburg, Russia instead of St. Petersburg, Florida. Thank the Lord for airport codes,” I muttered.
“You would have done her a huge favor. Florida is a fucking downer,” he quipped, adding, “And your stripper outfit may have made me feel a tad bit guilty.”
Liar, I thought bitterly. Yet, it was so fitting that he’d found me here. One eviction notice away from rock bottom. Offering me the one thing I couldn’t refuse. Dangling the health and security of me and my family in my face once again.
“I don’t want to work for you.” I sounded like a broken record.
“Lucky for me, you don’t have much choice. When reality makes the decision for you, it’s easier to accept your fate. Your tip”—he shoved one hand into his slacks’ pocket and took out a folded slip of paper—“was waiting for you. Next time you’re asked to do something, do it in a timely manner. Patience is not one of my virtues.”
“What is?” I deadpanned. Still eyeing him suspiciously, I plucked the paper from between his long fingers and took a peek, my pulse drumming wildly.
A check.
$10,000.
Sweet Jesus and his holy crew.
“Consider it a month’s signing advance.” He looked down at it, his brows furrowing as he examined it along with me. His shoulder brushed mine and a warm surge lapped across my chest. “Since we agreed on a hundred fifty K, the after-tax will be about right when you start working for me.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to anything,” I argued, but even I didn’t believe myself at this point.
I’d taken on so much debt and was living off one meal a day. Not a big one either. I was at war with myself, but deep down, I knew that the money was going to win this time around. It wasn’t about greed. It was about survival. I couldn’t afford my pride. And my pride, unlike the money, wouldn’t be able to feed me, to pay for Rosie’s medication, and to make sure our electricity was still on next month.