Total pages in book: 13
Estimated words: 11681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 58(@200wpm)___ 47(@250wpm)___ 39(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 58(@200wpm)___ 47(@250wpm)___ 39(@300wpm)
“And me.”
“Uh… yes?”
“Is that a question?”
“No?”
“Sandrine?”
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“Contact Mayor Mark's people. Let them know I’ll have a plus one.”
“Of course.” I don’t have to worry that it won’t be done. I extend my arm to Ashlee, and she places her hand on the top of my arm. I’d say she’s done this if I didn't know better.
Why am I so fascinated by her? It fucking figures that the one woman to turn my head lives three thousand plus miles away from my island oasis.
Chapter Two
Ashlee
I don’t know how this happened. One minute I was walking along 42nd Street toward the subway, and the next, I ran smack dab into what I originally thought was a wall, but instead, it was a man. All I could see was an expensive suit and tie, but my other senses? Well, they were on fire. He smells like the forest after it rains, and his body feels strong under my hands. I have no idea where we are going, but I’m not going to pass up the chance to spend time with him. Who would?
Since the accident that claimed my parents’ lives, so much has changed. I got a promotion at work to Editor-in-Chief. That’s going pretty well, but I’m still lonely as hell. I just turned twenty-three, and my birthday was spent alone. Courtnee and Stacee have both gotten married to the loves of their lives. Courtnee lives in Queens now, but I barely see her. She married a Nunzio Vitali… of those Vitali’s. She’s a mob wife now and does mob girl shit with her sisters-in-law. Stacee married her producer, Tyson Lord, and they live in LA in a huge fucking mansion. I’m happy for them, but it just sucks that they forgot about me, except for our twice-daily video chats. They used to last hours, but I’m lucky to get ten minutes at a time with them these days.
I’ve tried to make friends, but no one likes me for some reason. I guess I’m just one of those girls women hate on site. Men only have one thing on their minds, which I’m most definitely not interested in with them. I even got so lonely that I started taking classes at the Day School. All kinds of classes I didn’t need. I learned how to dress, act, and speak like a lady. I learned French and Spanish. I learned how to dance, how to eat, how to set a table, and how to converse properly. I had thought these kinds of classes had fallen by the wayside, but they are very much in style. Most of the girls in the class were children; I was the oldest. I didn’t care, though; it got me out of my shitty apartment.
Now I’m walking down the street on the arm of the King of Uskia, my freaking obsession. The irony of this situation isn’t lost on me. I used to have a crush on Rush Bennett, the actor. Since Stacee is an actress, I’d have had a better chance of meeting him than this man. I don’t dream about Rush Bennett like I do this, man. I am so caught up in thinking about my naughty dreams about him that I couldn’t tell you what we are talking about, but I think I’m answering him.
“Miss Beaufort?” Okay, maybe I haven’t been answering him.
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Please, call me George.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Try,” he commands, and I feel myself needing to obey him. Something pulls low in my belly at the sound of his voice. Okay, that’s new…
“George.” His name on my lips hits differently than if I were to say, Curious George, George of the Jungle, or George O’Malley from Grey’s Anatomy. It goes straight to my core and unfurls there, spreading over my entire body like heat or electricity.
“Very good. Now, what do you do?”
“Oh, I am editor at a publishing house down the street.”
“That sounds fun.”
“It is. I love to read, and I wanted to do something where I could do that all the time. I did an internship after college, and they hired me permanently.”
“So you’re not an actress?” he asks, and I groan.
“No. My sister, Stacee. She’s big time famous now. I’m a triplet. My other sister, Courtnee, is a teacher married to a mobster.” I tell him, wanting to be as truthful as possible.
“There are three women who look like you roaming the Earth?” he asks.
“Yep. The Beaufort Three, as we are known in Beaufort County, South Carolina.”
“That’s adorable,” he says, grinning.
“Anyhow, how did it go at the UN? That’s where you were right? I saw in the news that you are trying to become a member.”
“You follow things like that?”
“Of course. Current events should be followed, don’t you agree?” I ask, looking up at him again. I can’t stop looking at him, and it seems like he can’t stop looking at me.