Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
I pull out my phone to mindlessly scroll before I even realize I’m doing it. My mother wouldn’t be too pleased if she knew I wasn’t paying attention to the auction, so I go to put it away, but a message notification grabs my attention. When I open the message from Billie, I see there’s a photo of a tattoo parlor with the text.
Billie: Don’t worry about it. I can take care of it myself. I’m all booked in for tomorrow. Hope you’ve pulled the pole out of your ass. xx
Like fuck.
I’m gripping the phone so tightly I’m certain it’s about to splinter into a million pieces. I know Billie’s tactics; I’ve seen her work them on her brother many times before. But I never thought they’d grate on me so easily.
She seriously fucking thinks I’m going to let anyone else ink her skin or finish my job?
It’s because she couldn’t stay still in the first place that it’s not a complete piece.
Hawke returns to my side, and he scans the room before turning to me. “Jesus. Who are we killing?”
“Nobody,” I say under my breath. “But I’m suddenly feeling like committing a little arson tonight.”
Hawke whistles as the auctioneer kicks things off.
Each attendee’s face is highlighted by the screen of their iPad where they place their bids—no one being the wiser as to who is bidding or how much.
It keeps the bids high and keeps the money coming in.
But right now, I don’t give a shit about money. I have a personal vendetta against a certain little bundle of chaos who’s acting like a brat.
The tattoo parlor is engulfed in flames as I slam the car door behind me. Hawke whistles in the passenger seat as he admires the blinding flames. “Fuck yeah. It’s been a while since we’ve done this. Brings back memories.”
I turn the engine on, smugly satisfied at our handiwork, and that’s ridiculously stupid. I’m not better by reacting to her provocation, but she obviously needs to learn a lesson.
“Pearl?” Hawke asks, hope and anticipation stamped on his face. Dutton’s Gentlemen’s Club has become one of his favorite places to visit.
“Whatever,” I grumble, still fucking furious. I can’t believe she actually had the guts to book a tattoo appointment with someone else and then act smug about it.
“So, is there a reason why we’re so pissed off with the guy who owns this place?” Hawke questions as I throw the car into gear.
“No particular reason.”
“Cool, cool,” he replies. “You’ve been acting strange lately. Are you sure everything’s okay?”
I ignore him. Even if I wanted to answer him honestly, I wouldn’t even know how to put it into words. I just know I’m furious. Past that, I’m probably being a petty prick, but so fucking be it.
CHAPTER 17
Billie
Idon’t expect a message back from Ford, but it still pisses me off when he doesn’t take the bait. I pocket my phone again.
“This is the fucking best,” Ivy squeals as she sifts through the selection of lingerie. “I want to try these on.” She races to the fitting rooms.
No one else is in Honey’s, the exclusive lingerie franchise my father started and that both my parents now own. A friend in college once asked me if it was weird to know my parents ran a lingerie shop, and I was baffled as to why they’d even think that. Because it has perks like this—opening the store afterhours and taking whatever we want. It’s not considered stealing since my mother handed me the keys and told us to have fun, but whatever.
I’m certain they’re happier for us to spend time in here where the security is top of the line than in some shady club. But right now, I could certainly go out for a few drinks and dance the night away.
Ford’s pissed me off. Epically. And no matter how much I try to push it away or simmer down, I can’t.
Trying to understand the fucker is like trying to break into a vault. And this is the second time he’s denied pleasing me, when that’s all this is supposed to be—sex.
I take a seat on the sofa beside Hope. “You’re not going to try anything on?” I ask her.
She only flew in today, and it’s nice having her in town to check out the new apartment. Hope adjusts her glasses that frame her beautiful eyes and complement her naturally vibrant red hair. “Nah, I have a few pieces already.”
I sigh and drop my head on her shoulder. Where Ivy is the outgoing party girl, Hope is on the other end of the spectrum. She doesn’t like crowds and is awkward in social settings, so she usually keeps to herself. But she has a calming energy around her. It’s crazy how successful she is at only twenty-two. And to be honest, I’m a little envious. She’s world-renowned for her sculptures, and she seems more put together than me or Ivy.