Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Not counting my new friendship with Storee, Marco is the only friend I have, but I’m still not happy with him. I’ve only sent him a simple text that I need time. That doesn’t stop him from calling and texting with annoying frequency. I have his number on silent for the night. I don’t want his persistence ruining my evening.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I say when we pull apart. “And looking extremely sexy while you’re at it.”
Levanta is wearing a floor-length satin dress, the gold complementing her deep bronze skin. The front of the dress dips to show off a ton of cleavage, but she’s got the rack to pull it off. She’s got an Angelina Jolie look going on, the slit in the skirt displaying her long, thick legs.
“You think?” She bats her gold-colored eyes a few times in jest. “I can say the same for you. Damn girl. Are you here to auction yourself off?”
I laugh. “If only the buyers were so lucky.”
“Are you going to bid on anything?” Levanta leans against an empty table and flags down a passing waiter for two drinks. She hands one to me with a smile. “I opened a tab so drink as much as you want. It’s my dad’s card, so don’t feel bad about it.”
I thank her and take a sip. “Is your father here?”
“No, I’m here in his name. He donated the signed picture of Barry Manilow. I told him no one was going to bid on it because none of these people will know who he is, but he insisted he’s still popular enough. Couldn’t he get a picture of Taylor Swift or something?”
A Barry Manilow picture might just be the perfect cover for my donation later tonight.
“My father loves Barry Manilow, actually. It must be an old man thing.”
Levanta snorts, setting down her glass on the white tablecloth. “What about you? Are you here instead of Braken Frost?”
I freeze halfway into setting down my drink. Levanta smirks like she knows. But how does she? I haven’t told anyone. I didn’t want our engagement to become headline news while Mason’s killer is still out there. Once the murder has been solved, the tabloids can run wild with conspiracy theories about us. Until then, I’ve kept my mouth shut and my ring off in places I might be photographed.
I resist the urge to touch the necklace I have the ring chained to, hidden behind the top of my dress. Levanta watches me like a hawk for any reaction.
“Who said that?” I ask carefully and finish setting down my drink.
“For as much as my father rags on the women in our family for being gossips, he gossips more than all of us combined.”
Damnit. Papa must have said something to Levanta’s father during a business call. I’m surprised he hasn’t called me to push the marriage forward faster, though he must be too busy trying to figure shit out after his only son died.
Levanta’s smirk grows bigger as she leans forward and whispers, “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
It sure isn’t. As soon as Levanta walks out of here, she’ll be calling every person she knows with the news. I need to squash this before it gets too big.
“Thanks. We’ve been waiting to announce since… you know.”
Sorry for using your death for my gain, Mason. At least that works. Levanta’s smirk softens into a smile, and she pats my velvet-covered upper arm.
“I’m sorry about your brother. I totally get it.”
“Levanta!” one of the photographers hollers from near the front door. Thank God. “Can we get a picture with you for the website?”
“Of course. Be right there.” She squeezes my arm one more time before letting go. “Have another drink on me. Celebrate! It won’t be long before you’re an old maiden.”
I playfully roll my eyes and push at her arm as she goes. If anyone’s an old maiden, it’s her. She’s been married since she was eighteen and has four kids, yet somehow still looks like a supermodel. I can only hope the same when Braken and I—
Nope. I chug my drink and let the alcohol wash away that thought. I don’t need to be thinking about Braken and his large cock in my mouth, or about how his fingers feels so good inside me, or how he looks like he belongs on a damn runway and smells like he robbed a cologne store. Or how there are two other men waiting for their turn—
“Stop it, Fiora,” I chide myself under my breath. Another drink sounds great right now.
Only when I turn, there’s a champagne flute right in my face, and the person I least expect to see is holding it.
Marco.
Shock must be written on my face because he awkwardly laughs, handing out the drink toward me.