Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 31579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
"I've been looking for you." His voice is gruff and low, rolling over me. His hand is tight on my hip, and when I look up at him in confusion, he just smirks at me and turns to Claude. "I don't believe we've met. Drake Evans."
"Claude Vanderhoven," the man says, holding out his hand.
They shake hands, but Drake's gaze doesn't leave my face. He's being so odd, the heat radiating off him. I can smell his cologne, familiar and expensive, and it makes my head feel a bit dizzy. I need to get some water.
"Your lovely assistant was telling me that you weren't the biggest fan of my work." There's amusement in Claude's voice, but it sounds fake to me.
"It seems like an acquired taste," Drake says.
I'm too shocked to do anything but stare up at him. His smile is sharp, and he looks every inch the cocky rake that he is. Claude clears his throat, obviously offended.
"I think your film is very touching," I blurt. "I haven't seen it, but I read about it in a magazine."
Claude beams at me and gives a self-deprecating little shrug. "A magazine, really?" he says. "Well, that is quite the compliment."
Drake's hand is burning into my hip. He hasn't tightened his grip at all, but he feels like a forge standing next to me. "I'm going to go get a drink," I say, feeling flustered. "Anyone need anything?"
No one does, so I turn and walk away, acutely aware of Drake following me.
I beeline to the bar, getting in line behind several other people. I'm still reeling, and it's all I can do to not whirl around and demand that Drake tell me what the hell he thinks he's doing.
When we reach the front, Drake orders a bourbon, neat. I order a glass of water.
He raises an eyebrow at me. "Nothing stronger?" he asks, nodding to my glass.
"I'm on the clock," I say, trying to sound snippy. But I'm too confused to manage it. "You should know that."
The bartender hands me a tall glass of ice water. I take a big gulp.
"What the hell was that?" I demand after I've banished the dryness in my throat.
Drake, unsurprisingly, ignores my question and asks one of his own. "Have fun with your new little friend group?"
I scoff. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"The little Frenchman. He seemed very eager to spend time with you."
I'm getting irritated. I'm so tired of Drake acting like he didn’t have a gaggle of girls hanging off him all night. "He was nice, and we had a conversation. That's it. I thought we were here for networking."
"We are," he says. "But we don't need to network with him."
I don't know why Drake has such a problem with Claude, and right now, I don't really care. "Well, did you have fun with your fan club? I think you've got a few girls who'll be up all night wondering if you're going to call them."
"I'm not interested in any of them," he says, his voice low and rough.
I roll my eyes. "Right. Whatever you say, Drake."
He downs his bourbon in one gulp, eyes blazing, body angled towards mine. The same electricity from earlier in the suite rises between us again, and it makes my breath catch in my lungs. "Stay with me tonight."
Now, I definitely can't breathe. "W-what do you mean?"
Drake looks around, and there is Claude halfway across the room. He's watching us, and when he catches Drake's eye, he smirks and raises his own drink in acknowledgment. When Drake looks back at me, his jaw is tight. "How about a bonus, Ellie? $1,000 if you don't leave my side for the rest of this bullshit event. Not as my assistant but as my date. What do you say?"
He's trying to get a rise out of me. I know it. And it's working. I'm so irritated, and I want so badly to tell him to shove his money up his ass. But then he says, "Ellie, please."
And something inside me softens. Maybe it's the way he says my name. Maybe it's the look on his face. I can't be sure. All I know is that I'm not leaving his side tonight.
Plus, $1,000 to be on the arm of the man I want anyway is a hell of a deal.
"Okay," I say. "I'll stay. But you're going to be on your best behavior, Drake. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, ma'am." He gives me a wicked smile. "Whatever you say."
"Good. And you owe me $1,000."
He chuckles and pulls out his phone. "Yes, of course. I’m positive you’ll be worth it, even if you are a little too eager to drain me dry.”
It's my turn to chuckle. "Oh, poor Drake. What a tragedy to be rich and famous."
He glances up from his phone, lips twitching. "You should know I've got a lot of expenses."