Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
Her breath shudders as she lets the phone fall into her lap, leaning against me again. I pull her closer.
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice is so faint I almost don’t hear it.
“This isn’t your fault. Don’t apologize.”
Hell, until she signed on to our program, she was just as squeaky clean as Hannah promised.
This is entirely on me.
Both for being a walking scandal magnet, and because I couldn’t keep my dick in my pants when I needed to.
If I hadn’t touched her and kissed her and erupted like a volcano on that trip, there wouldn’t be any salacious photos floating around at all.
She deserves so much better.
“I’m telling you, I’ll find a way,” I promise darkly, though the words are empty and we both know it.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” she says. “We’re both in this.”
Maybe so, but dammit, we shouldn’t be.
I hold her tighter, ignoring the widening distance she puts between us.
I can’t reach past the blankness in her eyes.
Something about the meeting has clearly shaken her to the core, and no matter how close she is, her mind feels like it’s a universe away.
I can’t reach her now.
I shouldn’t want to, but I do.
“You can talk to me,” I tell her. “We’re going to power through this. I don’t give a fuck what lawyers that liar has—mine are better, I assure you.”
After everything that happened with my uncle, witness protection, and Serena, I know the value of a solid legal team.
“I don’t doubt it,” she says, resting her head on my shoulder. “I just wonder if it’s the only way to set things right...”
I already know it’s not simply because it’s too fucking slow.
But what else is there?
Closing my eyes, we breathe together, until the silence feels more natural.
Still, that doesn’t mean it’s right.
There’s just nothing else left for us here right now.
I give the driver directions to Destiny’s apartment, and after dropping her off, head back to the office to think.
It’s late enough in the day, there’s no one else working except Hannah.
“Trying hard for that pay raise, I see. Go home,” I tell her later as I walk past her into my office.
“Soon, Mr. Foster.”
I grunt and shut the door behind me, walking behind my desk and dropping down in my leather power chair.
This thing between Destiny and me, whatever it is, has to end.
This time for real.
We agreed it would after the weekend, and yes, I’m well aware I’m the asshole who can’t stay away.
Dark thoughts swirl around me like a cloud of flies.
I should just release Dess from her obligations at Home Shepherd. Hell, I should scrap the entire program, double the money she gets, and help her set up her nonprofit.
No one else can screw her over based on rumors if she’s the chief.
Mostly, I need her away from me.
Before I can taint her more than I already have.
Snarling, I open the bottom drawer I normally keep locked and pull out a bottle of bourbon and a glass I only keep around for emergencies.
Tonight is a goddamned crisis.
One shot rolls down my stomach and explodes, fanning fire into my blood.
There’s no turning back.
After I’ve unleashed the legal hounds on Adriana, I’ll let her go.
I’ll do whatever I can to send her off to a better life than the one she has if she keeps working under me, a walking target for more punishment.
This weekend, that’s when I’ll tell her. When we take the yacht out to talk and try to spot the sei whales one last time.
No sex.
No kissing.
Not even touching a hair on her head.
Just one last bittersweet joyride to enjoy her presence and the way she lights up my inner darkness like the sunrise made flesh.
One last parting hit of the addiction she’s become from a safe distance.
Then it’s cold turkey, and she’ll be free to follow her dreams without being mired in my nightmares.
Fuck, after her, maybe I need rehab.
Is it possible to be physiologically dependent on another human being?
The thought draws a bitter laugh out of me and I pour a few more fingers of booze.
I swallow wrong on my next shot. It hurts like hell on the way down.
Whatever.
Today, I need the pain.
But before I can fall too deep into the torture pit of self-hatred, there’s yelling from outside my door.
I shove the glass aside as I stride over and rip the door open.
I’m not ready for what I see.
Hannah, damned near frog-marching Mark out of the elevator toward my office, yelling at him to keep moving.
And Hannah Cho never yells.
Mark, he’s a human tomato with a beard, sullen-faced and sulky and staring at the floor.
“What the hell’s going on?” I ask.
“That’s what I’d like to find out, Mr. Foster.” She swings around to face me. It’s like flicking a switch, and she’s back to her impeccably controlled self. “Why don’t you explain my findings, Mr. Cantor? Or I will.”