Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 130673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
We made our way down to the fourteenth floor—a half condo, half office setup with sleek, modern couches, sexy lighting, and sparse, modern furniture. Tate fixed us drinks, and we settled in recliners on the balcony, both of us staring at the view.
“My date caught you fucking Row’s baby sister when she went to the restroom.” He cut straight to the chase.
Shit. When I did an inventory to check who was at the table, I forgot Tate’s latest conquest.
“We weren’t having sex,” I said wryly, twirling the tawny liquid in my beaker, watching the golden glow of it intensifying like the heart of a flame. “And if this is about upsetting your business partner—”
“Christ, no.” Tate’s facial expression was carved in stone. “If you think I give a fuck about anyone’s feelings, you haven’t been paying attention. I’m talking strictly business.”
“This fling between us is constructive to my deal with Bruce,” I lamented.
“It is,” he agreed brashly, “and I’m not opposed to you fucking her a few times before whatever this thing is runs its course. But it is my duty to warn you that you don’t want to get tangled up with someone with a kid and a bag full of issues.”
I snorted. “You can’t be serious. Me? Monogamy? Kids?”
“I see the way you look at her,” Tate said tersely.
“Yeah, and how is that?”
“Like she’s a pied piper about to lure you to the edge of a cliff.”
Clicking my tongue, I shot up to my feet. “Is that all?”
“No.” Tate remained seated. “Bruce is playing you. There’s no reason for you to sit around and wait for him to sign the contract. For fifty-five percent of the company, I’ll offer you the same seed money as Bruce and ten million in ad budget.”
My jaw nearly hit the granite of his balcony. It was a good offer. And it was an offer that could pull me out of the financial trouble I was currently swimming in. My fridge was emptier than Tate’s chest. It took me a second to think it through.
“No,” I said.
“Fifty-one percent,” he bargained, standing up now too and looking at me like I’d just pissed in his soup.
“Tate, I want Bruce. He can take me to the next level.”
“I can do that too.” Tate, like all billionaire playboys, had a really hard time hearing the word no.
When I got into my car, I noticed a few text messages I’d missed when I was with Tate.
Mom: Where are you, Rhyland? We need you.
Mom: You’re so irresponsible for ignoring our calls.
Mom: We know where you live, you know.
Nothing said motherly love like Mafia tactics.
Mom: Fine. Have it your way. You’ll regret not answering us.
DYLAN
A day later, I woke up to the chime of the doorbell. I dragged myself to the door, still half-asleep. Mama was already in the kitchen, making herself and Marty sandwiches ahead of her scheduled flight back home later that morning. I tossed the door open, expecting a package or a neighbor in need of a cup of sugar, only to find a delivery guy holding a peculiar bouquet.
“Dylan Casablancas?”
“Unfortunately,” I groaned. Damn hangover.
“Can you please sign here?” He handed me a small touchscreen device.
I did, accepting the bouquet from him. There weren’t flowers in it but arranged pieces of what looked like newspaper.
“Who is it?” Mama called from the kitchen.
“Oh, just one of those artistic bouquets…” My fingers searched for the card attached to it, finally finding it nestled between the curled shreds of paper.
Good moaning, Cosmos.
Hope you had a great night. I’ll see you very soon.
—Rhyland’s cock.
I stifled a snort, taking another look at the bouquet to see what was printed on those pieces of paper. There were lots of them. The first thing I noticed was that they were all the same. Meaning it was the same page printed over and over again. I walked over to the kitchen counter, pulling pieces of it out to try to put together one full page, like a jigsaw.
When I realized what it was, a laugh escaped me.
It was his clean health bill sheet to show he didn’t have any STIs. This was his stab at romance.
“Why are you laughing?” My mother turned to look at me, confused.
I immediately grabbed the bouquet, shoving the papers back into it. “Nothing. Rhyland is just being…Rhyland, I suppose.”
“That boy always had a thing for you.” Mama snorted distractedly, returning her attention to the bologna and mayo she was slamming onto pieces of bread.
I took a shower, got dressed, and said goodbye to Mama and Marty. Grav cried when they left, which made me feel shitty. What made me feel even shittier was the knowledge that Tucker was finally coming over at ten in the morning to meet Gravity for the first time. Suffocating panic clogged my throat. I was going to be there the whole time, but I was still uneasy about this entire thing.