Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
I soothed myself with the images of Tori and me together, cruising the 101 in a convertible, staring up at the big, blue sky and laughing, not a care in the world. We’d find some little beach town, book ourselves into a hotel, and make love on the sand when the sun went down. From there, we could go anywhere in the world.
My fantasies took me away from the stress and anxiety over the meeting with Richie, and I let them carry me as far as they could.
A knocking sound interrupted me, and my eyes snapped open. “Good to see you, Mr. Starr. I’ll take your car now.”
“Sure, Josh. I’d appreciate that.” I got out, tossed Josh the keys, smoothed my hands down the front of my button-up shirt, and then sucked in one last shaky breath.
It was the last shred of fear I allowed.
It was time.
When I made my way to the VIP entrance to the club, I had a cocky smile on my lips, a swagger in my step, and kept my shoulders down and back. I was a badass motherfucker, and I didn’t care about a punk like Richie. I was going to take his money and then take him down.
End of fuckin’ story.
Parkston’s was busy as hell, and I wasn’t sure whether or not that was a good thing. Unable to help myself, I glanced at the bar as I passed by on the opposite side of the main room. I’d told Tori to stay away, call in sick or something since she was supposed to be there working, as always. I didn’t want her to be in such close proximity to Richie and his goons, and so far, it didn’t appear they had any idea who she really was. Besides, if I pulled off the deal, we could get the hell out of this city and never look back.
One more night—but I still prayed to God she stayed home.
Like we’d arranged, Richie was waiting inside the private room flanked by his men and ready to do business. There wasn’t a bedazzled bra woman in sight. In fact, there wasn’t even a drink in sight. What? Did Richie like to do his business dealings sober? It seemed…off, but I ignored it and swept into the room with the same devil-may-care attitude I’d masked myself with the moment before entering the club.
“Richie!” I boomed; my voice infused with faux confidence.
Richie didn’t stand up from the couch where he was seated, legs spread, elbows to knees.
“Jake.” He snapped his fingers, and Jake, his bodyguard, stepped forward and grabbed my bicep a little harder than necessary.
“What the—?”
Jake searched me—roughly, and I kept my eyes locked on Richie. There was something cold in his eyes that had me on edge. Something was wrong. He wasn’t himself.
“Precautions, Starr. I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve been frisked for a wire.”
I forced a smile. “True. But if I recall, the last time you had me searched, you had a hot woman strip me down and fuck me silly to check for a wire. That would have been preferable. Not that Jake here isn’t a strapping specimen. He’s just not my type.”
Richie didn’t crack a smile, and a bolt of fear raced down my spine like lightning.
Shit.
“Apologies,” Richie said. “I expect my instructions were followed?”
Jake released me, and I made a show of straightening my shirt. “Yes.”
“Good. However, we’ve had a few internal changes.”
I glanced up from fixing my cuff to casually scanning the faces of the men positioned behind him. They all looked familiar from my time tailing Richie. So what was he getting at? Internal changes? It didn’t make any sense.
“Listen, I’m just here to make the deal. So, as long as we’re good on that part, then I don’t see why—”
Richie snapped his fingers. “Sit down, Starr. Take a load off.”
Shit. That didn’t sound good. Dalton couldn’t be backing out of this—not now.
I held back an impatient sigh and sat down in the seat he indicated. I leaned forward and swiped a cocktail napkin from the table between us. Casually, I pulled a pen out of my jacket pocket, clicked the top, and scribbled down a number. An obscenely large number.
I glanced up after I wrote the number down. It was big enough print. Richie could see it from his seat. His expression didn’t change.
“So, you transfer this,”—I leaned forward and handed him the napkin. Still nothing. No reaction. I knew he was trying to intimidate me, but I wouldn’t let him. I’d come too damn far. Besides, I knew the three-point six million I was asking for was just a drop in the bucket to him. The man was a billionaire—no, multi-billionaire.
“Then we go to the warehouse, and it’s all yours. Just say the word.”
He glanced down at the napkin for a beat, then back at me.