Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“Fun.” I sighed. “But I’m not going to argue with you. I know who Gabriel Stone is.”
“What do you know about him?” he asked.
“Only what Viveka told me,” I said. “He was a really rich businessman turned federal prosecutor. He has his hands in many pies and was turning into a person she didn’t know day by day. She told me in the beginning that Gabriel was great. But she thinks that being a prosecutor changed him for the worse.”
“I don’t know if Viveka just didn’t know or didn’t want to know, but Gabriel Stone was never a federal prosecutor. He was a lawyer, yes, but he only worked for the criminal side of things,” he explained. “And only the big ones. He’s been representing all kinds of disgusting people.”
“Like what?” I asked curiously.
“Like that huge case where the young teenage girl decided to spike her crush’s drink and get pregnant with his child,” he explained. “The girl did it seven times before it worked. When he refused to get with her, or pay child support, the girl’s parents took him to court.”
“Oh.” I remembered the case vividly because it’d happened at our school!
The kid had tried to fight the lawsuit, having explained that he was unaware of ever having sexual intercourse with the girl. When the girl all but admitted that she’d spiked his drinks, she’d had charges filed against her. And the bad thing was, she’d won in court. She got child support, full custody of their child, and the suit dropped against her sexual assault.
The kid had killed himself months later.
I hadn’t realized that the lawyer for the other side had been Viveka’s husband, though.
I also hadn’t thought my opinion of him could get any lower, yet here I was, thinking the man was less than dirt.
Gross.
“That girl needs to be castrated,” I grumbled.
His bark of laughter startled me, and I blinked at him in surprise.
If I thought Shasha Semyonov was beautiful before, him laughing? It was a work of art.
I wished I could put the feeling in my chest into the world for everyone to feel, because it felt like I was on Cloud Nine.
The muscles in his throat worked, his Adam’s apple bobbed, and the way his hair shifted…gah. It made me want to bury my fingers in it.
I was so entrenched in the feeling that at first I didn’t notice the telltale sign of my stomach beginning its thing.
That’s when I realized my mistake.
I’d fully expected him to be gone when this hit, which was why I ate as I did.
The smile that I’d been wearing slid off my face, and he tilted his head to study me.
“What?” he asked.
“Uh.” I paused. “If I ask you to leave, would you?”
His eyes narrowed. “Probably not. I hadn’t planned on going home tonight.”
I bit my lip as another familiar gurgle started to form in my belly.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
“Uh,” I repeated. “What if I said pretty please?”
He pushed his trash aside and leaned forward, his eyes focused on me. “What is it?”
Like I would ever tell him what was actually wrong.
“Oh, nothing. Nothing,” I lied.
“Is this about the bodyguards?” he asked. “Was it too much for you?”
I was already shaking my head. “No, no. Not that. I just, uh, need a bit of privacy for about an hour. Maybe you can go get some dessert or something and then bring it back?”
That would certainly take him at least thirty minutes. Nothing was a two-minute drive here, thanks to traffic.
“No,” he answered honestly. “Tell me what’s going on.”
He’d put on his scary face.
I kind of liked it.
I would’ve thought it was hot if my stomach hadn’t decided now was the best time to remind me that it didn’t like eggs and I was stupid for eating them.
“I, uh…” I searched for a believable excuse and might’ve come up with one had my stomach not betrayed me and let out a loud, grumbling gurgle.
Which, of course, caught his attention.
His eyes went from my face to my stomach.
Then the frown lines disappeared from his face as he leaned back into the chair once again.
“You have lactose intolerance.”
I frowned as another gurgle swept over me. “How do you know that?”
He studied me for a long second before he rocked my world. “I know everything there is to know about you, right down to what bra size you order from Victoria’s Secret, and how many rolls of toilet paper you buy in a month.”
My mouth dropped open, and a vicious cramp stole my attention, making my eyes squeeze shut.
There was nothing else I could do.
I got up and hurried to the bathroom.
By the time I’d come out over an hour later—yes, lactose intolerance was the fucking devil—I fully expected the apartment to be empty.
I mean, what man in his right mind would stay in the home of a woman that couldn’t control her bowels?