Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“And you have to ask yourself,” Joey says grimly, “what is the worst thing he might do if backed into a corner? Kill you? Kill Alana? What will his breaking point force him to do?”
“The answer is both,” I say, the words a thick, vile acid on my tongue. “He’d kill her to punish me, but in the end, if I take all he wants for himself, he’ll try to have me killed. Unless I give him a reason not to, and that reason is what? I don’t fucking know. The only answer is to let him try to kill us both and make sure he ends up in prison for it. And that’s where your team has to come through.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Damion,” Blake says. “You know that, right?”
“I know, which is why I’d rather send Alana out of the country and have you protect her, but she’s in a position to put more pressure on him than I ever could. So you damn sure better keep her alive. And I don’t expect her to end up in another concrete room.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Alana
I blink awake to utter silence, my mind crawling through the empty space on the hunt for reality. My nostrils flare with a delicious mix of man and coffee beans, and the present slips warmly into my mind. Home. I’m home with the man I love, who has obviously brewed my favorite pot of coffee. With a swish of blankets, I rotate, expecting to find Damion next to me, but my hand hits a piece of paper, and my heart jackhammers. What happened? Where is he? What did his father do? I snatch up the note and shoot to a sitting position, unfolding the note to read:
You have no idea how beautiful you are. I couldn’t help but watch you sleep, savoring every delicate line of your face and wishing like hell I could stay. I wouldn’t have left if it wasn’t necessary. Someone close to my father wanted to meet. We texted after you fell asleep. I’m hoping he has something to offer to help us. I’ll need to stop by the office to ensure the stockholders don’t freak out, but I won’t be long. Savage is staying with you, and he wants to check you out one last time. I love you, baby. I’m so damn glad you’re home.
I love you,
Damion
Tears pool like raindrops in my eyes, but the storm has passed, and the emotion welling inside me is almost luxurious in its celebration of finally connecting, really connecting, with Damion. Almost, I think, but not quite, because his father is still in the mix. I roll over and snap up my phone from the nightstand, intending to text him, afraid to call for fear I’ll distract him on his mission to find a way out of our troubles. It’s then that I discover the message from Lana and several missed calls. When the assistant producer tries this hard to reach you, it’s either really good or really bad news.
I push to my feet and decide I can’t possibly call her back until I make a bathroom run. But before that, I type Damion a message: I love you, too. Please be careful and come back to me.
Always, he promises almost instantly, and I swear my soul sighs with relief. I believe him. I believe we’re done running from each other. But now, I am running—to the bathroom. And as long as Damion comes home soon, I think I can check my worry, after, of course, picking Savage’s brain.
After brushing my teeth and hair, I throw on leggings and an oversized sweatshirt to ensure I’m presentable with a male bodyguard in the house, and then I’m on the hunt for coffee. After which, I’ll call Lana. I need caffeine to endure hearing my show has been cancelled. I pause at the door of the bedroom, hand on the knob, my chin lowering with that brutal thought. I don’t want it to be cancelled. The idea of losing my show when I’ve finally found the joy in it is much like spying a blossoming rose, savoring its floral scent and beauty, only to grab hold of it and catch a thorn that draws blood.
But it doesn’t matter if I lose my show, I remind myself. If Damion and I can find a path to happiness, without a grim reaper—his father—over our shoulders, all will be well. I love real estate. And I love Damion. That’s what matters. I shake it off and open the door. The minute I bring the room into view, I find a pretty brunette woman sitting next to Savage, the two of them leaning in close as they talk, their knees pressed together.
His wife, and I don’t know why this makes my heart squeeze so darn viciously and my damn eyes prickle again. It’s illogical, and I cannot name the emotion swishing through me. “Hi,” I say, and they are both on their feet.