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 grabbed my phone and sifted through some emails while I waited. Between junk mail, pleas from former clients begging me to un-retire so they could flash a fake boyfriend at a wedding or a funeral, and emails from potential investors was an email from Bruce’s secretary. I clicked on it, my heart staggering its way out of my throat.
Dear Mr. Coltridge,
As per your meeting with Bruce earlier this week, Mr. Marshall has expressed an interest in hosting you and your fiancée at his farmhouse on the outskirts of Dallas three weeks from today.
Mr. and Mrs. Marshall would love to have your fiancée and her daughter as guests, show everyone some Southern hospitality, and discuss business as well as examine if you fit the Marshall Corp family and its uncompromised values.
You will be provided with private accommodation in Mr. Marshall’s farmhouse should you accept.
Please let me know if the time and date suits you. If so, Mr. Marshall will see to your transportation arrangements.
Do not hesitate to contact me should you have any questions.
Faithfully,
Portia
Orgasmic triumph flooded me. Finally.
Marshall wanted to close the deal and wanted to spend more time together. I wasn’t excited to pay Dylan for three more weeks, but I was sure as fuck thrilled to see the end was near, for both our sakes. I quickly typed out my acceptance of the invitation and opened a text box with Dylan. She’d had a crap-a-licious day, but not through my fault, so I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to break the inconvenient news to her.
Besides, I’d already filled my quota of being a great fake fiancé for the year.
Rhyland: Just got word from Bruce. He invited us to his house for a weekend in three weeks. Save the date.
Dylan: Seriously?
Rhyland: I never joke about the prospect of becoming four hundred million dollars richer.
Dylan: I hate it here.
Rhyland: Tough luck, Cosmos. For the money I pay you, you should show up in a gingham dress with a homemade cherry pie, braids, two first names, and your knees ready to be scraped at a moment’s notice.
My breath hitched. Was that last description really necessary? No.
Could I think about something that wasn’t my cock inside her smart mouth? Also no.
Dylan: That is a shockingly detailed kink.
Dylan: I’m happy to report I do, in fact, own a gingham dress, know how to make a cherry pie, and give the best oral sex.
Dylan: As for the braids, I’ll have to charge extra for that. They make me look hella young.
My eyes rolled inside their sockets, my rock-hard cock muscling its way past my zipper, begging to break free. I’d thought eight years would dull out that incident when I almost took her in her tiny kitchen, but they hadn’t.
Rhyland: Forget the braids. Your hair will be in my fis
I erased the entire text message. What was I thinking? This couldn’t happen.
Dylan: Uh-huh. You typed then deleted. Dead giveaway you’re breaking.
It didn’t help that Dylan had the instincts of a panther and the bloodlust of a piranha. I stared at the screen and grinned like an idiot.
Dylan: The offer still stands.
Dylan: So is your cock, I’m willing to bet.
Dylan: No strings attached ofc.
Rhyland: I’m trying to do the right thing here for a change.
Dylan: Why? The wrong thing’s always more fun.
I brought my fist to my mouth, biting it to stifle a groan. Checked my watch. Ten minutes before the bar closed and Tucker was let off. Good. I needed a distraction.
Rhyland: I thought you hated me.
Dylan: I do. I’m also horny and single. And I heard enemies-to-lovers is the best trope for sex.
Rhyland: Wouldn’t know. Never felt anything for anyone I slept with.
Dylan: That’s low-key sad.
No. What was sad was that we weren’t having this conversation face-to-face so I could see her olive skin growing scarlet, her heavy eyelashes fanning her cheeks, and her chest rising and falling to the rhythm of her pulse.
Rhyland: Neither have you.
Dylan: Excuse me?
Rhyland: You’ve never slept with someone you love either, Cosmos. I know, because you told me you fucked Tucker on the day I acted like an ass to you (sorry about that, by the way. What was I to do? Tell Row my cock had bested my mind and I’d decided to get a piece of his sister?). And I know for a fact you haven’t had anyone else since that asshole.
Rhyland: And you didn’t love Tucker. Everyone knew that. Even you. He was just a way to pass the time that got complicated when you got knocked up.
I stared at the screen for a few minutes. No answer. I’d touched a nerve. I decided to dig a little deeper.
Rhyland: Was he at least good in bed?
I was going to deserve the beating Row was destined to give me, no doubt. I’d just earned the first few punches, and I’d gladly take them if it meant prolonging this conversation a little. It was my version of “just the tip.”