Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
How could this man be checking me out after all the world-class women he’s been with? It doesn’t make any sense.
I can feel myself blushing now too. Hopefully I’m far enough away from him and it’s dark enough outside that he can’t see it. The image of Ethan Newhouse running his hands across my naked body should not be invading my mind right now—not after what I came here to do tonight. Not after what I know about this man.
But do I really know that about him? Or do I just think I do?
“So this is how you get me to go home with you tonight?” I ask him. “This little scheme of yours?”
“What scheme?” he asks casually. “But if you’re suggesting that I take you back to my place because your car isn’t drivable, and that I pay for my guys to have it towed to the shop and have your tires inflated in the morning, then that sounds like a great plan to me.”
There’s a long pause between us. That feeling of our prior conversation in the back room being a dream has simply extended to out here in the street, and I feel like I’ve been swept away into another universe or something.
Is there actually chemistry between us? Am I actually contemplating this?
Not only is Ethan a total stranger, but just minutes ago, he was basically my enemy.
“And you’ll also convince me that this PR campaign from Justin Hathaway is real?” I ask. “And that you’re really a good guy?”
He nods and grins. “You’re damn right I will.”
“Fine,” I say. I can’t stand out here in the street all night, and I certainly don’t want to call home and wake my dad and get scolded for what I let happen to the car. “But only because you’re a big bad billionaire who coerced me into it,” I add with a smirk, narrowing my eyes at him as I walk in his direction.
“Of course,” he says, extending his hand, which I don’t take.
I start to walk up the block, but he takes his phone out of his pocket and seems to send a text. Seconds later, a black Rolls Royce pulls up from around the corner and stops in front of us. I give him the Oh-really? look as the back door opens and he extends an arm, motioning for me to get in.
“After you.”
3
Whitney
I try not to be impressed by the ridiculous, over-the-top luxury of Ethan’s car or the regal mansion it drops us off to after a short ride where neither of us speaks too much. But how can I not at least a little? Both the car and the house look like something off TV or a YouTube channel with millions of views—things I never thought I’d ever see in real life.
Yet here I am, stepping out of a car that costs more than the house I grew up in and walking up the front steps of an estate that could probably feed the hundreds of families for decades. And the fact that I’m a little bit jealous of both of them makes me feel awful. Like I’ve somehow betrayed myself, my beliefs, and who I am.
He holds the door for me, and we step inside into an enormous foyer done in white concrete or large white glossy tile, I can’t tell which. There are sparkling chandeliers above us that look like golden fireworks frozen in time and an enormous open fireplace on the left that lights itself as we take a few steps forward.
“See, this is what I’m talking about,” I say loudly, waving my hand around. “All of this.”
“All of what?” Ethan replies with a smirk.
“Excess,” I say. “Absurd excess. How many starving families could you feed with just those stupid golden balls hanging above us?”
“Do you know how many starving people Newhouse International has fed with our charitable works and our advancements in farming technology?”
He grins back at me. He’s enjoying this, like a professional fencer who’s found someone to engage in a match with him.
“You rich guys always have charitable works,” I scoff. “All publicity.”
“Oh, I see,” he laughs. “So if we don’t do anything, we’re rich assholes hoarding all our money. And if we do, we’re just doing it for publicity. Is that it?”
Before I even get a chance to respond, Ethan has his back turned to me and is walking away with both hands in his pockets. Does he even care about my response?
I follow after him at a quick pace through a door and into an extremely modern living room where he’s already behind a full bar beside an all-glass wall looking out at the glimmering lights of Los Angeles, making himself a drink.
“I’d offer you something, but I assume you’re underage,” he says as he fills a glass with ice, not even bothering to look at me.