Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“I could hear you banging around down here,” she says. I stare as she gets herself a glass of water. She’s in a pair of tights and an oversized t-shirt that still somehow shows off her incredible figure. My pulse thumps thinking about my hands gripping her thick ass.
“I’ll try to be quiet the next time you’re sleeping at dinnertime.”
“I’m pregnant,” she says defensively. “I can’t help it. What’s your problem?”
I soften a touch and force my smile back into place. “Had a rough day. Some vendor prick got under my nerves.”
“Yeah? Who was it?” She leans against the counter, watching me with a frown. This is the most she’s wanted to talk to me since moving in here and I’m guessing she’s a little vulnerable after her nap. Her walls aren’t back in place yet.
“I doubt you know him.”
“My dad’s been in the pawn shop business for, like, fifty years. I grew up around all those people. If he deals in the city, I’ve probably met him.”
“You know Emory Smith?”
She snorts and takes a drink. “Yeah, I know him.”
“Seriously?”
“He’s the luxury watches guy. What’d he do to you?”
I’m not sure I want to get her mixed up in my business, but I’m frustrated and distracted by the way she licks her lips after drinking some of her water.
“Basically told me to go fuck myself when I said I’d be taking over for my father in the near future.”
“Sounds like him. Emory’s a control freak. If it’s not his idea, he doesn’t want to hear it.”
“That’s a problem for me then. He supplies Fed with half our high-end pieces.”
“I can talk to him if you want.” She says it so casually like it’s a totally reasonable thing, and that immediately sets me on guard.
“Why would that help?”
“I don’t know.” Now she’s smiling slightly. This girl’s up to something and I don’t like it. “But I bet he’d listen to me.”
“Why, exactly, would Emory care what you think?”
Her grin is vicious now, and she’s definitely fucking with me. Only I don’t know how. “How about this? If I can change his mind, you get me new fencing gear.”
I raise my eyebrows. I was going to buy her whatever fencing shit she wanted—so that’s an easy deal to make.
“I didn’t realize you were going to take me up on the basement offer.”
“Natalya convinced me. And I figure new, very expensive gear is exactly what I need to really keep me motivated. Do we have a deal?”
“Alright, little fencer. You convince Emory to keep supplying Fed after my father’s deposed, and I’ll get you whatever you want.”
“Perfect. Let me get changed and we’ll go visit him before he leaves his office at eight.” She finishes her water and stalks out.
“How did you know he’s always there until eight?” I call after her, but she doesn’t respond.
I don’t like this. I don’t like it one fucking bit.
Carmie’s got a big, shit-eating grin on her face as I park in front of the office tower downtown where Emory keeps an office, and I really, really don’t like where this is going.
“Something wrong, husband?” she asks sweetly, leaning toward me, pressing her arms together and batting her eyes.
She’s in a low-cut dress that shows off way too much fucking cleavage, and right now she’s pushing her tits together very much on purpose.
“I don’t know what you plan on doing up there, but you better remember that you’re my wife.” I pause and glance down at her chest despite my best efforts. She’s goddamn gorgeous, and I’m instantly half-hard. Shit, get it together. “My very pregnant wife.”
She seems very pleased with herself. “Relax. Emory’s a scuzzy prick. He’ll be too busy staring at my tits to argue.”
“I don’t approve of this plan.”
“You want him to keep on supplying your store with Rolexes? Come on, this dress isn’t even inappropriate. I’d wear it to a freaking funeral.”
My jaw grinds. “A funeral for a porn star, maybe.”
“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous. It’s seven-thirty already. You coming?”
I’d rather go home and find a new watch supplier, but Carmie gets out of the car before I can stop this farce. She strides to the building, and I growl in anger as I get out, feed the meter, and hurry after her.
Emory’s office is on the nineteenth floor. There’s usually a young, pretty receptionist out front, but she must’ve gone home for the night. His waiting room is nice, with black leather chairs and designer art hanging on the walls. Emory’s a lot of things—a prick, a bastard, a cocksucker—but he’s got really good taste. There’s a reason he’s been so successful all these years.
“Excuse me? Emory?” Carmie calls out in the direction of his ajar office door.
The man himself appears, looking annoyed. He’s in his sixties, thin gray hair, a paunch in the middle, sagging jowls, ugly stubble, but his clothes are perfectly tailored and expensive. His shirt’s untucked, and his tie is loose, and I can smell the whiskey on his breath from across the room.