Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Then again, it seemed that she was making a pretty big fucking mistake with Joey and his friends, whoever they were.
I went to the bar to get another drink—soda in a champagne glass. I couldn’t be bothered with questions about sobriety.
“You’re Piper.”
The words were punctuated with a hand on my lower back, the pressure light but still invading and uncomfortable.
My entire body had stiffened from the unwanted contact, even though I’d had to endure plenty of it throughout my life. Some of it seemingly benign from men, other times not. Men were brought up to think they could conquer the world—history gave them every reason to believe this—and that included the women in it. It was wild that something as simple as personal space was breached constantly by men who thought they had the right.
His voice was close. Too close to my neck. It might’ve been attractive. Low, throaty, masculine. It had all the right ingredients, yet it felt off. Before I even looked at him, I knew the man was trouble.
I sucked in a breath, steadying myself. Not only did I need to remind myself that this was my sister’s birthday party and not to make a scene, but that there were definitely some shady characters here. Offending one could be a lot worse than making a scene at a party.
I didn’t have a smile on my face when I turned, but my expression was as pleasant as I could force it to be.
Me turning meant the man was no longer touching my lower back, thankfully. But it also meant that we were face-to-face, and he was standing much closer than was polite. I could smell the sharp twang of his expensive aftershave, that again should’ve been nice, alluring, yet there was something off, something bitter about it that made me want to recoil.
“I’m Piper,” I had replied, looking at him in his murky-brown eyes, my voice sharp.
He smiled, looking me up and down in appreciation. My jaw hurt, I ground my molars together so hard.
He wasn’t ugly by any means. He was significantly older than me, communicated by the lines at the corners of his eyes and the silver streaking through his ash brown hair. His forehead was shiny, though, one of the telltale signs he indulged in a little bit of Botox. Everything about him seemed shiny. His flashy watch, the bespoke suit that almost completely hid the paunch at his belly but not entirely. The gleam in his eye that counteracted the warm smile. The gleam in his eye that sent my heart hammering in my chest. It was cold. Predatory.
He was large too, much taller than me with broad shoulders. But not just in size. His presence felt large, like I had suddenly been encompassed in a cold shadow.
I repressed my shiver.
“I thought Joey got himself a good one with Daisy.” The man nodded his head to where my sister was laughing, Joey’s arms around her possessively as they had been all night. The casual but somehow caging embrace had set my teeth on edge.
I didn’t look their way for too long, just a second. Everything told me to keep all of my attention on this man. You didn’t take your eyes away from a bear when it cornered you, did you?
Somehow, inexplicably, I would’ve rather been cornered by a bear right then.
“But it seems that there is another prize in the Matthews family.” He buttoned and unbuttoned his jacket, his long, manicured fingers moving fluidly.
His words were meant to be charming, I was sure. And along with the obvious wealth he flaunted, the air of power that threatened danger, they might’ve been charming to a younger, more naïve woman.
But I was not charmed.
I smiled tightly, fingering my amethyst ring on my left hand. “I’m not sure that being called a prize is the compliment you intend it to be.” I was unable to be pleasant, to tread carefully even though I knew I should. My mouth tended to get away from me. Most especially when rich men referred to me as an object, one they presumed could be bought. Or stolen. “I’m a woman. Not a soft toy in an arcade game. I can’t be won. Or owned.” My voice was firm, bordering on hostile.
It was meant to repel this man, urge him to move on to easier prey. Less difficult. Men didn’t like difficult women. They always said they wanted strong, complex partners, but they merely wanted a plaything they could control, a voice they could snuff out.
This man screamed that he wanted a docile, submissive woman who knelt at his feet and didn’t dare say a word against him.
Surprisingly, he didn’t sneer or frown. His face was blank for a second before he chuckled.
The sound vibrated in my bones, and not in a good way.