Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Allison takes a step back away from me, looking confused. “I don’t understand. My father’s dumping me on you, how?”
“There are pictures of you leaving my house that morning. You remember those paparazzi?”
“Sure,” she says with a shrug. “That thing happens to you a lot, right?”
“No, and they were actual private detectives working with a political action group. Some Super PAC is blackmailing your father.”
“Oh.” She blinks a few times and drifts back to her chair. “Oh,” she says again. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Allison, it’s very bad.”
“And this really isn’t about sleeping together again?”
“No,” I say with a grimace. “Just to be clear, that was a massive mistake, and if I could make that night disappear, I would.”
She sinks down into her seat. “Huh. Okay. So what am I doing here again?”
I walk to the table and take a seat, making sure there’s plenty of space between us. Isabel remains standing, invisible near the wall, like her years of acting as my assistant left her unable to sit.
“You will be staying in this hotel for the next month while you father and I do damage control.”
“For a month?” Her eyebrows raise. “I have plans. There’s a concert—”
“You’re not leaving the premises. I just sent word to my staff, you will not be allowed outside of this hotel, no matter what to do, unless there’s a real medical emergency. Even then, I know a very good doctor that does house calls.”
Allison looks outraged. “Sorry, are you kidnapping me right now?”
“I wouldn’t call it that.”
“Sounds like you’re fucking kidnapping me. I didn’t consent to you locking me up for a month. Did my dad really put you up to this? I’m going to call that self-righteous prick right now and explain just how badly he fucked up. I’m going to post all over the internet about sucking your—”
I slam my palm on the table loud enough to make her jump. “You talk about that night one more time and I will take your phone, crush it under my shoe, and throw you into your room myself.”
Isabel looks annoyed as she steps forward. “What Con’s trying to say is we just need you to lie low for a while until this political stuff blows over.” She glares at me and I glare right back. I’m not treating this spoiled brat with kid gloves, even if I did make a stupid mistake with her.
“My father’s career isn’t my problem, and there’s no way I’m staying in this crummy place for an entire month.” Allison looks around. “Seriously, you can’t keep me locked up.”
“I can and I will.” I push back from the table. “Please, call your father. Let him explain the situation if that’s what you need. But from now on, you will not leave this hotel, not for any reason. Do you understand? And if you cause problems, so help me god, I will instruct my men to lock you up and throw away the goddamn key.”
“Conlan,” Isabel hisses but I just ignore her.
“You can’t do this.” There’s a real note of fear in Allison’s voice.
Good. I’d rather her be afraid than giving me shit.
“I can and I just did. Call your father.” I turn to the door. “And, Isabel, please show Allison to her room. Give her one of the suites.”
“You have me doing your assistant tasks still?” she asks, sounding frustrated. “You can’t just walk away, you haven’t finished explaining everything to her.”
“You can handle that.” I’m seething too much to speak my mind. I’ll only end up making it worse, and I don’t think we can afford pissing off Allison even more right now. “In fact, make sure you do.”
I walk out of the room, aware that I didn’t handle that very well, but too angry to fix it.
This is why I’m not marriage material. I ruin relationships—that’s what I do, it’s what I’ve always done.
I might’ve felt a spark when I kissed Isabel back at Vegas, but I won’t let that feeling consume me.
It’s a job, nothing more.
Chapter 14
Isabel
“Is he always such a prick?” Allison looks around her suite. It’s one of our best: two spacious rooms, a bathroom, a walk-in closet. Furniture is new and clean, linens are soft, minibar is stocked and completely free, at least for her.
“Pretty much,” I admit. “I thought you knew him.”
She gives me a look. “We talked for all of thirty seconds. Talking isn’t why I threw myself at him that night.” She flops down onto the couch, groaning with frustration. “How the hell am I going to get all my stuff?”
“I’ll have it sent over,” I say, hesitating near the TV. “Why did you throw yourself at him?”
She glances at me. “He’s hot. You have eyes, right?”
“Yes, I mean—”
“I don’t know how you work with him without trying to jump his bones every day. Like seriously, the man is beyond fit. Unless you already slept with him? Got it out of your system? That’s the smart move, I think. Bang one out and move on.”