Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 130673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
I thought this little speech would at least earn me a second of grace, but no. Row tilted his head back and laughed hysterically, as if I’d just told him I was joining the circus as a goddamn contortionist.
“Drop the charade, Rhy. You can’t catch feelings. They’re not transmitted via blow jobs.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I do like your sister.” I sidestepped him, my shoulder crushing his purposely.
“Like her or love her?” he enquired.
“Like her enough to be mindful with her feelings. I give a shit, okay?”
He stalked out of the gym behind me. “Giving a shit is the bare minimum. And it’s usually enough if there’re two people involved. But my niece is in the picture too. Did you ever stop to think about what you were walking into?”
I punched the elevator button and ground my teeth in annoyance.
Row clipped my shoulder. “No, seriously, Coltridge. I—”
“No. You listen to me now, asshole.” I swiveled around sharply to face him. “I get it. You love your sister. You’re protective of her. You have this shared, fucked-up past, blah, blah, blah. But in case you haven’t noticed, she is a ball-busting hard-ass who’d happily wrestle a shark for a bet. And win. To you, she is your baby sister. To the rest of the hetero male population, she is sex on fucking legs, with a smart mouth and funny tidbits and interesting observations to boot. You love her because she is your family. I lo—like her for all she is. You and I are not the same.” I pushed at his chest.
He stumbled backward, his face a mask of shock.
“And yes, I am aware she has a daughter. I’ve been spending a lot of time with both of them. We’re both fucking grown-ups, and it’s time you deal with that.”
“I told Dylan I’m backing off and letting her live her life,” Row said charitably, as if he had a choice in the matter. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to warn you off. She deserves the world.”
“I will give her the entire goddamn galaxy,” I retorted.
The elevator pinged open, and I stepped inside.
“Just stay the hell out of my business, yeah?”
With that, I clapped his shoulder with a polite smile, let the doors slide closed, and went up to my penthouse.
RHYLAND
Dylan_loves_Rhyland4ever posted a new picture.
Rhyland Coltridge commented: We look so hot together.
Dylan_loves_Rhyland4ever commented: It’s only a picture of me??
Rhyland Coltridge: Oh, I’m inside. IYKYK.
TheRealAmbroseCasablancas commented: Watch it, Coltridge.
Dylan_loves_Rhyland4ever commented: Row? Since when do you have Instagram?
TheRealAmbroseCasablancas commented: Since you two ruined my life.
The next three weeks were pure bliss.
Since the contract had been signed, I got a rush of money into my bank account. This time, I wasn’t being stupid about it and blowing it all on designer shit. I hired the financial firm Tate used and opened several investment portfolios. I also continued paying Dylan for her fake fiancée services while we sported an impressively wholesome real relationship. Tuckwad slipped under the radar and kept his head low. He still shared some shifts with Dylan at the Alchemist, but they’d stayed out of each other’s way. Cosmos said he’d been giving her creeper vibes, but that was pretty much his default mode, so I wasn’t too worried.
In those three weeks, a lot of things happened. Dylan and I started doing sleepovers, including at my penthouse. I bought Grav a princess bed and assembled it from scratch. She went nuts when she saw it. Dylan applied to premed programs for next year. I found an office space ten minutes away from the penthouse and hired a PA and three developers on top of the team Bruce had sent into New York to help throw App-date into high gear.
Fluffy and Mittens were not yet adopted.
I refused to part ways with the little fuckers unless I knew the place was legit. And really, it wasn’t too bad. I brought them into the office every day. My new PA took them on walks. Employees snuck treats under the table for them. They slept in Grav’s princess bed every night, which made her happy. Life was good.
Too good, maybe. I was beginning to suspect a curveball was waiting right around the corner. And fate did not disappoint, as usual.
I was in my office when I got the call, scrolling through thirst-trap AI profiles of fictional people looking for a fake friend to go on a fake coast-to-coast trip with. Fluffy and Mittens were at my feet, chewing lazily on their squeaky toys. It was Bruce.
“Yes?” I asked briskly.
“How’s the app coming along?” Bruce drawled in his southern accent. He sounded chirpy, which immediately put me in a bad mood.
“Fan-fucking-tastic.”
Better than expected, actually. We were launching in one month, and four hundred thousand people had already subscribed to the service without even trying it, since we’d run a promotional price through an ad campaign that was all over cable TV and Times Square billboards. The competitors were shaking in their boots and announcing they’d be offering similar services. But they’d never be able to be the OG. What we had was unique, and everyone knew it.