Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 84219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Angelo gets up as well. “I better get back to my wife.”
I give the men a chin lift before they leave, then turn my attention to Renzo and Dario.
When Dario just keeps staring at me, I glare at him. “Don’t even fucking ask.”
His tone is filled with laughter when he goes against my wish and asks, “So, are you fucking your PA?”
“Fuck off,” I mutter before downing the rest of the whiskey in the tumbler.
“I’d like to hear the answer as well,” Renzo joins in.
“No, I’m not.”
“You don’t attend any functions unless we force you to,” Dario says. “And you weren’t working late with her.”
“Christ, you’re like a dog with a fucking bone,” I growl. “I’m just spending time with her. It’s nothing romantic.”
Both men give me a skeptical look.
“You’re just spending time with her.” Dario shakes his head at me. “Suuuuure.”
“I’m just helping her deal with some shit,” I admit, so they’ll shut up about the matter.
“You’re helping your PA? Willingly?” Renzo asks, his voice thick with laughter. “Hell has officially frozen over.”
I set the tumbler down and climb to my feet. “I’m going home.”
“Aww, just as we’re getting to the interesting part,” Dario taunts me.
When I walk to the private elevator, they burst out laughing like a couple of fucking teenagers.
I step inside, and as the doors start to close, I give them the middle finger.
Fuckers.
My phone starts to vibrate, and I quickly pull it out of my pocket. Whenever I get a call at one in the morning, I know it’s not good news.
Seeing Brian’s name flashing on the screen, I answer, “I’ve already returned your car.”
“That’s not why I’m calling.”
The elevator doors open, and I walk to where Milo and Lorenzo are waiting by the G-Wagon.
“What’s up?”
“It’s Miss Blakely. She wants to know whether you can call her.”
No, I can’t. I spend half the day talking to her over the phone. She might recognize my voice.
“I’ll deal with it,” I mutter before hanging up. Looking at Milo, I say, “Let’s go home.”
I have a couple of burner phones at the house. I’ll send her text messages, that way, my identity will remain anonymous.
Chapter 14
Samantha
Sitting in my living room, instead of sleeping, I stare at my phone.
This really could’ve waited until tomorrow, and he’ll return your call tomorrow. Go. To. Sleep!
When a message comes through, I grab the device and quickly open it.
You asked me to call. Is everything okay?
“Shit,” I mutter.
I type my reply and press send.
I’m sorry for bothering you like this. We can talk tomorrow. I don’t want to keep you up.
While I program the number under MMM, another text comes through.
MMM: You’re not keeping me up. What’s wrong?
Samantha: I just wanted to ask you something.
MMM: What?
I hesitate for a moment before I type out the question.
Samantha: Do you do house calls?
MMM: Why?
Samantha: I’m worried the club is giving me a false sense of security, and while I think I’m getting better, I’m actually making no progress at all. I want to test the theory.
Feeling like I’m asking too much, I quickly add another text.
Samantha: Don’t feel obligated in any way. I’ll understand if you say no.
MMM: When do you want me to come over?
Samantha: When are you free?
MMM: Now.
My eyes go wide as saucers, and my heartbeat sets off at a crazy pace.
This is why I reached out to him. Chickening out will make me look childish. Before I can change my mind, I send my reply.
Samantha: Okay.
When I put my phone down on the coffee table, the thought crosses my mind that I’m going to be dead tired at work.
I wonder if Mr. Vitale will have an aneurysm if I call in sick?
Probably.
I get up from the couch, and when I walk into my bedroom, I see my reflection in the mirror.
“Shit!”
Darting to my closet, I yank out a pair of leggings and a T-shirt and quickly change out of my pajamas. I pull my brush through my hair, and looking semi-decent, I head back to the living room.
Unable to sit, I stalk up and down, my eyes darting to the front door every few seconds.
Suddenly, my phone vibrates with an incoming message, and I almost tackle the coffee table to get to the device.
MMM: I’m coming up the fire escape, so I don’t give any of your neighbors a heart attack.
My eyes dart to the window, and feeling nervous as hell, I go to open it. A moment later, a black figure appears, and as he climbs into my living room, I begin to think I have some kind of death wish.
My mystery man straightens to his full length, then our eyes lock.
Yep, I’ve just let a stranger into my apartment. I’m officially insane.
He doesn’t try to move closer, but instead asks, “How are you holding up?”
Hearing the gentle tone of his voice helps ease some of the nerves spinning in my stomach.