Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“Rubberton?”
He glares. “Don’t you read emails? She’s an heiress from England. She’s divorcing her boy-toy husband and determined not to give him a dime, but she’ll give us plenty. Oh, and she has a crush on you.”
I shift uncomfortably. I can still feel Lily’s heat, still sense her closeness. When she bit her lip, I wanted to grab her so badly, lean in, and press my lips against hers. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“She mentioned it when booking the meeting. This is all in the email. She’s seen a few of your Good Samaritan articles from back in the day.”
“I hate those things. They always made the work feel cheap.”
“Well, it’s helped us, so don’t hate too hard.” He puts the gun back in the desk drawer, giving me a severe look. “It would help if you flirted with her a little.”
“You’re joking.”
“You’ve flirted with clients in the past,” he points out, walking toward the door.
He’s right, in a sense. I’ve put up a front when necessary, using the logical approach of doing what’s best for the business. Yet it never felt like flirting then because there was nothing behind it, no nugget of truth. This is different. If I flirt with this woman, I’ll feel like I’m betraying Lily.
Christ. What the fuck am I thinking? What does that even mean, betray her?
Ethan leaves the room, walking down the stairs to let the client in. He’s already removed my photo of Damon from the wall. Ethan’s a chill, nonconfrontational person, so this is a big step for him to take, a definite line in the sand.
“Oh, sweetie, thank you ever so much,” the heiress says as Ethan holds the door open for her. “Oh, and this is the famous Landon Cross.”
She’s around my age, which should make her seem more appropriate for me, but I instantly dislike something about her. I think it’s the thin smirk as if I’m here as a gift for her or a piece of personal entertainment.
Technically, I suppose she’s not an unattractive woman. She wears a designer dress and looks like she goes to the gym, but she does nothing for me. I note these details with the cold, clinical nature a particular doctor might have while telling a man he has months, not years, to live.
“Landon …” Ethan walks up next to her, laughing awkwardly. “Are you suddenly mute, bro?”
“Bro,” Rosita says in delight, looking around at our East Coast decor, modern office. At least, that’s what Ethan calls it. “This place is so quaint.”
Ethan smiles, then gives me a look. It’s mostly the seriousness on his face that makes me snap out of whatever mood I’ve fallen into. Ethan’s a good person, my best friend. He’s been there for me every single time I’ve ever needed him. He was there at the most crucial time; he saved my life.
I won’t flirt, but standing here like a jackass isn’t helping anyone.
“Rosita,” I say with a forced smile, hoping she can’t tell it’s forced, “it’s so nice to meet you.”
The day goes slowly, with countless meetings. I do my best to play the game with Ethan, but two things are constantly on my mind. The first is Lily and the car ride this morning: her blush, her heat, biting her lip like her sole goal is to drive me nuts.
The second is the bar—Damon, the bastard who threatened an innocent woman just trying to do the right thing. She’s been through enough without dealing with that crap.
As soon as I can leave, I get in my car and drive across the city. I take my gun with me this time, which is a considerable risk. I check my phone more often than I should, thinking of Lily and inventing scenarios where she texts me. What do I think she’s randomly going to say, exactly?
Hey Landon. I was biting my lip earlier because I was thinking about sliding to my knees and kissing the head of your manhood, then opening my mouth and sucking as much of you as I can take. I was biting my lip because I wanted to feel how hard you get when you thrust between my legs and …
I snap myself out of it. Work needs to be done, and I need to focus.
This time, The Bear is open, with music blasting. I stare at the door as a heavyset man in a leather jacket falls out, stumbling onto the street, snorting, and then spitting on the ground. There’s no reason for a place like this to be so close to where families live, sleep, and try to study.
Usually, logic would keep me in the car, but there’s nothing logical about what that prick Damon did to Lily. There’s nothing logical about the fear and the pain it instilled in her. It’s just wrong—evil. Nobody gets to talk to her like that.