Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Lucian was pensive, and it was the first time I’d seen any semblance of emotion on his face. This was the proof that something in his past haunted him, and I just needed to figure out what it was.
“How are you feeling?” Nolan redirected the conversation.
Lucian shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“You’ve lost weight.” Nolan’s eyes drifted over Lucian’s frame with concern.
“Not much.”
“How do you plan to see this case through if—”
“I will see it through,” Lucian interjected.
They were both quiet then, and I knew I’d blow it if I waited any longer. I exited the hall and took a seat at the end of the table. They both turned their attention to me.
Lucian waved his hand between us. “Nolan, this is Gypsy.”
“Hi, Gypsy.”
I batted my eyes in his direction. “Hello.”
Nolan was an older man. Probably in his sixties, if I had to guess. He seemed surprised by my sudden presence in Lucian’s life, and the curiosity in his eyes gave me hope. He would be an easy mark to plead my case to if it came down to it. I might as well start winning him over now, just in case. Every person in Lucian’s life could be a potential ally if I worked it right.
“I’m gay,” he announced dryly. “So you can save your charm for someone else.”
My shoulders fell, and he smiled. “How do you two know each other?”
I wondered how Lucian was going to spin this, so I turned to him with a smile. “Yes, how did we meet, my darling husband?”
Nolan’s brows shot up at my endearment, but it didn’t faze Lucian.
“I’m blackmailing her,” Lucian said.
I glared at him, and Nolan chuckled as if he often heard this kind of thing in everyday conversation. “I see.”
“She’s a brat,” Lucian went on. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
“And you’re a bastard.” I showboated my pearly whites.
“That’s two items from your closet.” He returned my sarcasm with a lazy smile. “You sure you want to keep going? There’s a Louis Vuitton bag in there calling my name.”
“Not the bag,” I responded, horrified.
“Watch your mouth and you might still escape with it intact. This is your last warning.”
I looked at Nolan. “You just heard him tell you that he’s basically keeping me hostage here, and you’re okay with that? What kind of man are you?”
Nolan held up his hands. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, and I don’t care to know either. What Lucian does is his business, and I trust that whatever his reasons for keeping you here are good ones.”
I stood and shoved back the chair. This guy was no help. “May I be excused now?”
“You may,” Lucian answered. “It’s probably best you get back to cleaning, princess.”
BY THE TIME DINNER HAD come around, I was starving. Lucian told me there was a salad waiting for me in the fridge before he disappeared into his office. I popped open the container and took one look at the greens and decided against it.
My frustration drove me to the pantry where I sorted through bins of whole grains and health foods I didn’t even know how to pronounce, let alone cook. The man didn’t own a single microwaveable thing or anything of the pour and stir variety.
Enough was enough. He could eat this way if he wanted to, but I had my own money and my own options. Even though he’d taken away my cell phone, Lucian was still one of the rare people to own a landline, and as luck would have it… a phone book. I scoured through the yellow pages and hit gold. But the minute I began to dial, a shadow fell over me, solid fingers prying the phone from my hand.
“What are you doing?” Lucian scowled.
He was so close that I couldn’t move without touching his body, so I kept my gaze forward.
“Obviously, I was trying to order pizza.”
He closed the book and shoved it back into the drawer from where it came. “We have food here.”
My frustration swelled and ejected from my mouth with all the eloquence of a four-year-old. “I don’t want your stupid, weird food.”
There was a long silence in which I could feel his eyes on me, dissecting whatever it was he thought he could see. “There’s some macaroni and cheese in the cupboard,” he offered. “If you want to make that instead.”
My cheeks heated, and I turned away, so he couldn’t see. “Forget it.”
I tried to leave, but his arm snaked out and caught me. My body was rigid, and he wasn’t respecting my boundaries when he forced me to turn and meet his eyes.
“Gypsy.” His voice was deceptively soft, and his eyes made me think for a split second that he was being nice. “Do you know how to cook?”
“Of course, I know how to cook.” A lie. A big, fat, embarrassing lie. But that was none of his business.