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 got out of there before Row had the chance to change his mind about the arrangement and slipped into my custom black McLaren—a splurge I’d made two years ago. A gift to myself after working for four months with a filthy-rich client. She’d needed a fake boyfriend to parade after a nasty divorce that ended with an out-of-wedlock child by her maid and multiple lawsuits.
The engine purred to life, and I closed my eyes, thumping the back of my head against the cool leather. My phone vibrated in the central console, dancing to its own rhythm. I opened my eyes, frowning at the screen.
Mom.
Well, that was an overstatement. I hadn’t spoken to the woman since last Christmas, and not for my lack of trying. I’d hoped to spend last Easter with my parents but found out through Facebook they were in Iceland on a northern lights tour.
Picking up the phone, I stared at it calmly. “What kind of favor do you need from me now, Mother?”
But I didn’t answer the call.
Instead, I killed it by pressing the red icon and floored it back to my apartment.
RHYLAND
@DylanCasablancas2000! just followed you on Instagram.
@DylanCasablancas2000! commented: hello 911? I’d like to report a murder.
@DylanCasablancas2000! commented: OF MY OVARIES.
@DylanCasablancas2000! commented: you my butt when you get home 2nite
@DylanCasablancas2000! posted a new picture.
I clicked on the notification, quickly following her back and clicking on her latest post. It was a picture of her grinning, including a close-up on the mammoth engagement ring, clutching a tall man’s arm. You couldn’t see his face because he was taller, but she stared up at him with pure, unadulterated adoration.
For a reason I was definitely not going to explore, the image made my blood boil to the point it seared through my veins and gave me third-degree burns. I picked up my phone and called her. She didn’t answer—out of spite, no doubt. I opened our text box. The last message from her was two years ago, a generic, Row said he’ll pick you from the airport at nine, to which I’d responded with an equally hostile thumbs-up reaction.
I blew out air, still sitting in my car in the underground parking lot.
Rhyland: Who the fuck are you hugging in that picture? Because it sure as hell ain’t me.
Her reply was immediate—further proof she hadn’t answered my call simply to rile me up.
Dylan: A friend.
Rhyland: You don’t have any friends here.
Dylan: I made one today.
Like hell she had.
Rhyland: Where? When?
Dylan: At Target.
Rhyland: He works there?
Dylan: Yes.
Rhyland: Not anymore he doesn’t. I’ll see to it that he gets fired immediately.
What the fuck was wrong with me? Why was I jealous? No—not jealous, just protective of the Bruce Marshall deal. I really didn’t need her to screw it all up with a meaningless fling. What if Bruce found out she was seeing someone else? What if that asshole posted a picture of himself with Dylan and Bruce somehow saw it?
Dylan: I doubt you can get him fired.
Rhyland: Oh yeah?
Dylan: Yeah.
Rhyland: Why?
Dylan: He is a mannequin.
I stared at the text. Blinked. Went back to the picture she’d posted. Examined it more closely. Sure enough, there was an inch of exposed skin poking through the man’s sleeve, and you could see his complexion was gray. I chuckled, shaking my head.
Dylan: I had to get creative. And Grav wanted frilly socks.
Rhyland: Those IG comments are deranged.
Rhyland: I asked for soft launch, not soft porn.
Dylan: Is anal considered soft porn? Idk.
I pressed my lips together, suppressing a smile. We really needed to stop talking about sex. Especially in light of her brother wanting to make a BLT sandwich out of me for simply playing pretend with her. It was hard though. Dylan was funny. Imaginative. Real. It was why I’d kept my distance from her up until now.
Rhyland: We need to keep it PG-13. Remember, Bruce is a person of faith.
Dylan: So am I.
Dylan: I firmly believe people who want to get their butt fucked should. It’s no one else’s business.
RHYLAND
Three days had passed since Dylan propositioned me for anal in front of my forty thousand followers.
Three days since I last spoke to her or Bruce Marshall.
I’d refrained from following up with Marshall on Tate’s advice, not wanting to seem desperate, knowing I’d see him soon at Row’s event in New York. But something was gnawing at me. I wanted to do more to push this deal into completion. But I also didn’t want to appear as panicky as I really was.
I spent my day going to the gym, grocery shopping, and sweet-talking a few potential investors. I then made the mistake of checking my bank account and regretted the decision immediately. I was fast approaching being in the red, and I still had to pay Dylan an unfathomable amount of money. By the time I returned to the apartment building, it was ten at night.