Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
“No,” I say.
“No? What the… I’m trying to be reasonable here.”
“And failing.” I throw his own words back at him with a growl.
Truth, the money doesn’t mean anything to me. I’d pay him a million dollars a day without a second thought, if not for the fact he hurt what’s mine. But for what he did to Andrea and her aunt, there have to be consequences.
“You’ll wait,” I tell him. “And you’ll be grateful all you’re losing is a few days. You hurt something that belongs to me, and that’s the price. It’s a good fucking deal, I’d take it.”
He narrows his eyes, licking his lips. Then a light comes on somewhere. “That little—” He must see that I’m not playing, because he revises what he was about to say. “The girl, right? Cute little thing? She’s yours? Jesus, Erik, if someone had told me that she belonged to you, I never would have touched a hair on her pretty little head. Honest to God. Okay, forget the money. You’re right, that was uncivilized of me, and we’ll call that my apology. We done?”
“Not yet. I want one more thing.” I turn to glare at one of his goons, then the other. “I know you wouldn’t hurt her yourself. You’d have one of these fuckers do it. Which one?”
“Erik, come on, don’t do this.” Buffalino is more frustrated than anything, but I can’t let that drop. If he’d hit her himself, I realize now I couldn’t have walked away with only a gentlemen’s agreement. It would be personal. That is what this is. “Erik, he was only following orders.”
“Which one?”
“Fuck. You’re really going to…” Ernesto sighs. Then he nods at the bald goon standing to his left.
Baldie takes a step back. “Wait. Mr. Buffalino…” His eyes turn pleading as he glances at his boss. But Buffalino has already made his decision, and he steps away.
“We’re done now, right?” Ernesto asks me, and I nod.
“We’re done.”
“Fucking finally.” He steps away with his other goon, and climbs into his car.
As they leave, the bald one, who I never bothered to learn his name, starts to plead. But he hurt my girl, and for that there’s a price.
8
Andrea
Erik told me he had to go take care of some business, and that it was better if I didn’t come along. That was a couple of hours ago, and honestly? I’ve slept.
I think I just needed the rest and relaxation, and where better to do that than here?
Thinking back over the last day, I can’t believe the things we’ve done together. I can’t believe what I’ve done. Offering my body in exchange for a man’s help like some sort of seedy backroom deal. But there’s nothing “backroom” about all this. This is like Pretty Woman on fast-forward, with a whole load of hidden dirty scenes thrown in.
I feel exhilarated, I feel sexy, and I feel so, so naughty.
I spread out across the king-size bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering what we’ll do today. With everything fixed for Aunt Jess and her house, it’s like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders, and I can start to enjoy life. And I want to enjoy it with someone. And that someone is Erik Leonard.
Honestly, if you’d taken me to a fortune-teller a year ago, and she’d told me that I would fall for a big, brutish Viking of a man with a bunch of shady business associates, it would have only confirmed my belief that fortune-telling is all a big scam. But somehow, it happened, and I couldn’t be happier.
After I get up and showered, and pull a robe from the closet so I’m not running around totally naked, I head to the kitchen and start rummaging through cupboards. I’m not the world’s greatest cook or anything, but I can whip up a mean breakfast when I have to, and I grin when I find everything I need. Erik likes to eat, clearly, and that means we’ll get along perfectly.
Yeah, I know, I’ve heard the whispers behind my back about how I eat so much and still stay slim. The rumors about me having an eating disorder. Honestly, it doesn’t bother me. My body metabolizes fast or something. And one day that will probably stop, and I’ll get some curves, and I’m fine with that too. The industry is changing anyway—not fast enough, if you ask me, but plus size isn’t a dirty word anymore. There are modeling jobs out there no matter what shape you are.
Once I’ve got bacon, eggs, French toast, tomatoes and beans all cooking away, my phone starts buzzing. I ignore it. The world could be on fire, and I’d go down with a smile on my face. Whoever it is, they can wait.
When it starts ringing again, I take it out of the pocket of the robe I’m wearing, and toss it across the counter, letting it slide to a stop by a big bowl of very tempting fruit. A shiny blood-red apple, straight out of Snow White, dislodges from the arrangement, bounces on the phone screen, somehow accepting the call, and rolls off the edge.