Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
“Nice to see you too, Casablancas.” He ripped the sunglasses off his eyes, barreling into my room at the inn without an invitation.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I followed him inside reluctantly.
“Came here to finish our little chat from last night. Had to pick up a coffee in Connecticut, though. This place is barely civilized. Hold on a minute.” He raised a finger, putting his phone to his ear. “Gia. Where the fuck are you?”
Pause.
“Seventy texts are completely acceptable when my assistant has been MIA for an entire night.”
Pause.
“So what if it’s lost? It’s a cat, not a fucking kid. Get a new one. Now where are those files?”
I didn’t think there was an amount of money in the world that was worth putting up with this sociopath. Whoever Gia was, she needed that paycheck to be willing to work for him.
Tate hung up but not before showering his assistant with yet more orders and scolding. The only reason I’d let him in was because Cal wasn’t here. She had gone to pick up my Silverado from the shop—it was finally fixed—and had driven down to Portland with Dylan to shop for the latter’s hospital bag.
I still hated letting her do shit alone, worried she was gonna get picked on, but I had to let it go. I wasn’t going to be there to protect her when she moved back to New York. Just the thought of patrons snatching her wrist or men catcalling her made a vein pop in my head.
“Well, this is quaint.” Tate looked around, nose screwed to the side like the place smelled. I could see why he’d be angry. I’d dropped off the face of the earth and left him with his dick in his hand for weeks on end, because I was having second thoughts about a deal we’d already verbally agreed on. This, followed by yesterday, when I’d spent an entire hour giving him all the reasons he should fire the paralegals who’d harassed Cal if he wanted to ever be in business with me again.
“Did you have company?” He sniffed the air. “Smells like green apples and white musk. And…is it cat piss?”
Fucking Semus. “Pretty sure there are more pressing matters than my girlfriend’s fragrance.”
“Is cat piss a fragrance now?” He scowled. “Middle-class people are so fucking basic.”
I had to stop referring to Cal as mine. She was headed to New York in three weeks. I was moving to London. We had an expiration date. Too bad it wasn’t enough for me to be her first…I also wanted to be her last.
“I’m trying to do this thing where I pretend to care.” Tate ran a finger over the old-school air conditioner on the wall like it was a prehistoric piece. “It’s exhausting. Those asinine conversations…forgot what they’re called.”
“Small talk?”
“Yeah.” He glowered. “They’re pointless and last forever.”
“Agreed.” I nodded. “No need to pretend with me. We can’t stand each other.”
Tate looked relieved. “Let’s have coffee in that diner down the street.”
“You already have coffee.”
He tossed the still-full Starbucks cup into my trash can. “Now I don’t. Put your shoes on.”
I grabbed my jacket and we went down to Dahlia’s Diner. There, I was reminded of my social pariah status. Everybody knew who Tate Blackthorn was. And everybody knew this wasn’t a social call. But I think they were all too scared not to serve me because his presence reminded them I had their dicks in my hand.
“Can I get you anything?” Dahlia herself arrived at our table, popping her gum loudly. “Coffee? Breakfast? A one-way ticket outta this town?”
“Don’t tempt me.” Tate glanced at his watch, completely unfazed by Dahlia’s death glares. “I’ll take a small triple macchiato, one inch of foamed milk.”
Dahlia blinked once. “Sorry, I should’ve clarified. This is the only coffee we serve.” She slammed a pot of coffee on our table. “Anything to eat with it? Don’t say halloumi and zucchini organic bites. It’s either eggs, pancakes, or the door.”
“See?” Tate flashed me a look, gesturing around us. “This place is begging to be cultured. Help me help you, Row.”
I plucked the sticky menu from his hand and handed it to Dahlia. “We’ll take two coffees and two plain egg white omelets. No bread.”
She walked off with a huff. Tate sat back, flinging an arm over the booth as he took in his surroundings. “You know what I really hate, Casablancas?”
“Integrity?” I folded my arms and eyed him with distaste. “Puppies? Babies?”
Dahlia returned, pouring coffee into our mugs. Tate looked at me past her stern frown. “People who jerk me around.”
“I’ve been preoccupied,” I said, which was partly true. I had been—burying myself inside Cal. But that had nothing to do with the contract. I’d been low-key sniffing around other investors. Nobody had bitten yet.
“Allow me to refocus you.” Tate leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with barely contained wrath. “I have staff I need to pay. People attached to this project. Investors. Builders. A whole operation to oversee. The contract was the last hurdle before demolishing the train station and breaking ground. As it stands, you’re pushing the completion date. Now, let me tell you what happens when people fuck me over.” He laced his fingers together on the table. “I fuck harder. Sans lube. In holes you never knew were even in your body. I am no lover, pretty boy. Thrice divorced, and my blood sport is hostile company takeovers. I will demolish you if you cross me.”