Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
It’s not that I’m jealous, but it’s gross, hearing her talk about Conlan like that and knowing she’s not making it up. I wish he’d keep it in his pants for once in his stupid life, but apparently, he’s not able to control himself.
Which means I’m saddled with a manwhore for a husband and stuck babysitting his wayward conquest.
What a freaking nightmare.
As I head down the elevator, my phone rings. I answer it right away.
Conlan’s voice. “You should head to your house and pack.”
“Sorry, what?” The doors ding open and I step out. “Where are you right now? You should be up in that room talking to Allison.”
“She’ll be fine. You can handle her.”
“Sorry, that’s not how this is going down.”
“I have work to do. Go home and pack.”
“Pack what?”
“You’re staying in my house, remember? Pack whatever you need for at least a month.”
I stand very still. Around me, guests amble past, talking amiably to each other. There must be a conference going on since there are a lot of nice-looking people in business outfits.
“You’re serious about that.” My voice comes out soft. “You really want me to stay in your house.”
“Only way it’ll look real, remember? Pack and bring it all over. Do it discreetly, please. Come through the back. The gate code is 90210 and the back door is unlocked.”
“It’s 90210? Are you a soap fan?”
“Something like that. Can you handle this or should I send someone to get your things for you?”
“I’ll do it,” I snap at him, feeling overwhelmed. “Just give me an hour or two.”
“Make it fast.” He hangs up.
Like I’m still his freaking assistant.
“Asshole,” I mutter, shoving the phone in my bag. I take another couple steadying deep breaths.
Nothing’s changed. Despite everything, he’s still going to treat me like his assistant, even if I’m taking an enormous hit to my personal life to bail him out of a jamb he created. He should be kissing my ass, not ordering me around.
It’s typical Conlan.
For a second, I thought he might be different. In Vegas, when we kissed, I thought I felt something.
But no, that was just nerves.
There’s nothing with that man. He’s an empty vessel, like always, drifting around in search of a little bit of pleasure to fill him up for a while, but never satisfied. He’ll grow tired of me soon enough, whether the job’s done or not.
I’d better make sure he doesn’t try to throw me aside before this is all over.
Chapter 15
Isabel
It takes me a couple hours but I manage to jam enough stuff into a couple suitcases. His driver takes me back to Con’s place and helps me lug the big luggage the back way, down an alley between the houses on his block, and into his yard. I’m cursing him the whole way, and when I finally get the stuff into his kitchen, my phone starts ringing.
“Are you still with the car?” he asks. “You need to come back to the Lincoln.”
“Sorry, who’s this?”
“Funny. Isabel, get back here.”
“We’re going to have a conversation about the appropriate way to speak to your wife.”
“You aren’t my wife. If you were, I would’ve already fucked you half a dozen times.”
“Only half a dozen?”
“Today. Get over here.” He hangs up.
I turn to the driver, an older gentleman with ruddy skin and a big nose. “He summons me,” I say with a sigh.
The driver nods. “He does that. I’ll drive fast.”
We get back into the car and head out. The Lincoln’s a beautiful building, and it’s not far from Conlan’s home. I head in through the front and immediately Damon strides over. “They need you upstairs,” he says, waving me to follow him.
“What’s going on?”
“He didn’t say?” Damon looks uncomfortable. “You’d better find out yourself.”
I know better than to push. Damon’s one of Conlan’s most loyal men. There are others like him—including the supposed security guard stationed outside of Allison’s room—scattered throughout the Costa properties. I don’t ask questions about them, but I get the sense that they’re paid off the books to do things a normal employee wouldn’t or couldn’t pull off. It just another strange and borderline illegal thing I chose to ignore, and now I wish I had asked questions earlier.
It occurs to me, as I ride the elevator with a stone-faced Damon, that I’m tied to the Costa family now. Whatever Conlan and his brothers are up to, whatever schemes or illegal crap they’re involved with, I’m linked to them through marriage.
Conlan’s crimes aren’t mine. But if they somehow got into the news cycle?
I push that from my mind as I step out onto Allison’s floor. Damon doesn’t follow me, only grunts a good luck and jams the door close button.
Someone’s screaming.
Screaming like a maniac.
I hurry down the hall. The security guard is still there, glaring at Allison’s door. “She’s been at it for a half hour,” he says, sounding impressed.