Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Even when they're in shambles.
The damage is what draws people. Come, look at these crumbling pillars, the remains of what was once great.
Why would anyone want to see that?
I try to put the thought aside, but it lingers. This trip belongs in Rome. Marcus and his partner are here for the same reason.
So they can marvel at the sight of something in shambles. Something that will forever be preserved in its half-destroyed state.
Never rebuilt. Never fixed. Never released.
"This is it." Jasmine squeezes my hand as she stops in front of a tall building. Marcus and Jeff's shop. It's repainted. A brighter shade of cream than most of the buildings. It's just a little off. Just enough it stands out. "You think he'll have tea?"
"No."
"I uh…" Her expression gets sheepish. "I'm sorry I fell asleep last night. I wanted to—"
"Don't be. I've never had a better compliment."
Her cheeks flush. "I just, uh… I guess we should look happy here?"
No, we should fuck against that wall. Take off your panties. You're coming on my cock. Now. "We can get away with tired."
"Right." Her eyes pass over me slowly. It's different than the way other people look at me. More like she sees me. Like she sees something beyond a ruthless businessman. "I did appreciate the kettle. Thank you."
"Of course."
"And that oolong. Did my dad recommend it?"
I nod.
"Do you talk to him? Just the two of you?"
"Only about you."
She raises a brow.
"And Mariah."
"He deserves better—"
"She's a widow."
Oh.
"Her husband is her late husband. She hasn't been able to—"
She nods, immediately understanding. "Do you think they're… oh my God. Is it okay for her to work for him? Is that totally wrong? Should we find someone else?"
I can't help but smile. "Don't ruin his sexy nurse fantasy."
"That's my dad!" Her face turns bright red. Like she's a teenager, embarrassed by her parents kissing.
"We do mostly talk about you."
"He's probably having sex with her."
"Is that so bad?"
She looks at me like I'm crazy. How can you ask that!?!?!?
It erases the tension in my shoulders. Takes me back to a lazy Sunday afternoon, on the couch, watching one of those old movies she likes. "He did lecture me about treating you well."
"Well… in a normal way? Not a sexual way?"
I can't help but chuckle. "He didn't specifically mention that."
She stares at me like she's going to kill me. "You're evil."
I brush a hair behind her ear.
She shakes her head true, pure evil as she shakes the bell.
The softness fades immediately. No more memories of quiet afternoons or easy kisses or sunny skies.
We're here. Preparing to impress board members two and three.
If we don't manage this, I lose.
Worse, that bastard wins.
We need to impress them. Whatever it takes.
A moment later, an assistant opens the door. She smiles at us and asks us to follow her.
I motion after you and help Jasmine up the steps.
She stays wide-eyed as she takes in the interior of the building. It is beautiful. Like a church. Tall ceilings, marble floors, walls decked with paintings.
A bit much for a factory.
And there's Marcus. And his second in command. Diablo.
Did his parents realize they were giving him such an apt name? No, that's not quite right. Diablo is a saint compared to my stepfather.
I suppose he's more like Charles. A lapdog who does whatever his owner commands.
That, I understand.
What I don't get is Marcus and Jeff. What the hell do they get out of playing these games?
Maybe that bastard has something on them.
Or maybe they're assholes who like to watch fresh meat squirm. I wouldn't put anything past them.
Marcus smiles. I can't wait to watch you suffer. He holds out his hand. "Shepard." He ignores formalities despite the nature of our relationship. "It's always wonderful to see you."
"Yes." I shake his hand as firmly as I can, but I don't have a grip. The room is spinning. "A little early though."
"The time difference is hard on people." He releases my hand. "Maybe you'd like some espresso?"
"Sure." I suck a breath through my nose. Push it through my teeth. Then Jasmine's hand is on my wrist and I'm capable of inhaling. "But my fiancée prefers tea."
"I'll see if we have anything," he says, as if he will personally check every room for tea. As if it's him, not his assistant, who does the heavy lifting.
"You must be the fiancée." Diablo extends his hand.
"I must." Jasmine releases my wrist to shake. "Jasmine Lee."
"It's lovely to meet you, Miss Lee." He smiles. "I was hoping you'd pick Madrid." He launches into a discussion of the merits of authentic Sangria.
She listens carefully. Or convinces him of it.
I try to stay a part of the conversation, but it's impossible. What the hell is Marcus doing? He could have a direct line to that bastard.
Or he could be fetching tea.
There's no way to know. Jeff is easy to read. Marcus—