Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“Yes,” I growl. “Quite a few times. That outfit, the hip-hugging skirt, damn, it drives me insane. Feral is more like. You’ve got no idea how beautiful you are, do you?”
She shakes her head slowly. “I’ve always been proud of my figure, but nobody else has ever noticed.”
My hands tighten on her ass, causing her to shiver captivatingly. “Good, and it better stay that way.”
“This isn’t a trick, is it?” she asks. “It just sounds so unbelievable. My self-esteem isn’t low, but look at you, Tommy. Then look at me. Do you think anybody would think we matched?”
“I don’t give a fuck what people think,” I snap. “When I saw you, I knew I wanted you. Now we’ve met, I know it with even more certainty. That’s enough for me, and no, it’s not a bloody trick.”
“Are you sure, though?”
“I was sure the second I saw you.” I kiss the edge of her mouth, moving toward another full-on kiss. “That’s why I asked George to hire you.”
“Wait…”
She leans back in my embrace, her eyes glinting as she stares up.
“You told him to hire me?” Her voice cracks with heavy emotion. “I thought I got the job myself. I was so happy, jumping around the house like an idiot. I thought it was my video and the art piece I submitted, but… but…”
Damn. I’ve ruined it.
She tries to slip out of my arms, but I hold her in place. When she tries again, and I still don’t let her go, she forcefully moves away. It’s either set her free or wrestle her to keep her still. She takes a step backward.
“I… I need to use the bathroom.”
“Ami—”
“I’m serious. Please. Where is it?”
I point in that direction, and she walks away from me quickly.
“You were the best candidate,” I call after her, but I’m not sure she hears me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Amelia
I feel trapped and not just by the walls of the toilet cubicle. I’m not using the toilet. I’m just sitting on the cold seat. Trapped in his apartment, trapped in his lies, trapped in England. I’m trapped in this new, ugly world where I didn’t earn the most significant event of my life for myself.
It was given to me all because… This is when the anger starts to fade, becoming bright and promising. He became obsessed with me over a video. My instincts try to tell me it doesn’t matter why I’m here. The fact I am, and Tommy wants me, that’s enough, especially when he said he’s you-know-what over the video many times.
I leave the cubicle and go to the sink, splashing water on my face. When I leave the hallway, it’s a left turn back to the café but a right turn to a fire exit. My heart hammers. Sweat pours down my body. I’m not thinking very far ahead as I walk toward the exit, just long enough into the future to know I need some fresh air, a break from all this—a short one.
My womb—yep, her again—is ecstatic. He more than wants to date me. He’s obsessed, he said, and that means we’ll be able to have a family together one day. All I have to do is accept that I’m here because he wants me here, not because of my silly video and stupid art piece. Now I’m questioning everything. Is my candy drawing even good, or am I getting favoritism at work?
I walk down the stairs, then push out another fire door. Onto the street, I stand in the rain, letting it wash through my hair and slide down my body. It’s refreshing and jolts me awake, allowing me to analyze this situation.
I’m still working in my dream job. I’m still in England, a place I’ve always wanted to visit, and I’ve just discovered that the man of my dreams wants me too. Shouldn’t I be happy?
“Excuse me, miss.”
I look up at the voice. It’s funny as in odd, not ha-ha, but I’ve only just realized I’m standing in an alleyway with nobody else around. The man has long red hair, some tied up, the rest messy around his shoulders. He’s tall, pale, and wears thick glasses. He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt, but I can see poorly drawn tattoos on his hands.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
I’ve always done my best to be friendly to homeless people, but I’m also a realist. Being alone in this alleyway with a man I don’t know isn’t a good idea, especially after the graffiti and the threats.
“We’ll have to see about that,” he says, moving closer.
I step back with my hands raised. I know I’m probably being insensitive if this man isn’t involved in the crazy fever dream my life has become, but at the same time, why take the risk?
He stops short, raising his hands too, shaking his head slowly. “I’m not going to hurt you, Amelia.”