Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Walking into Whiskey’s office area, I’m met with the same personal assistant. Her smile falters a little when she sees me, but she quickly recovers. “Mr. Whiskey is in a meeting.”
“Tell him I’m here. Please… It’s urgent.”
She nods and heads off to inform him I’m here. I sit on the sofa provided, and within a few minutes, his office door opens, and he strides out dressed in a perfectly fitting blue suit.
Whiskey’s eyes flick to the personal assistant before they fall back to me. “Urgent? What’s urgent?” he asks, but I know he’s also talking to his personal assistant.
“She told me it was, sir. You asked if Miss Snow came to the office to tell you straight away.”
Whiskey nods but his eyes remain firmly in place on me. “Bunny, what’s urgent?”
I stand, brushing my hands down the front of my skirt. My father usually prefers formal attire. He prides himself on having a daughter of elegance and class. But today I need all the brownie points I can get. So, I’ve dressed in a tight black pencil skirt, a light-pink silk cami, and I’ve finished the look off with a white jacket. A pair of Christian Louboutin sky-high heels? That’s just the cherry on top. At least I’m not in a damn dress. Though, I would prefer to be dressed in the clothes I like—give me a swing skirt, flats, and a short cardigan any day.
“You’ll be coming with me. Now. I have a meeting with my father in twenty minutes.” I look at my small Tiffany watch, which sparkles under the light, then back to him.
His eyes flick to the ring on my finger, then his eyebrows scrunch together in a frown.
“You have to book a meeting to talk to your father?” he asks, clearly confused.
With a roll of my eyes I answer, “Yes. He’s a busy man, you should know this.”
Whiskey scratches his chin and looks back over his shoulder at his personal assistant, who has a blank look on her face, then back to me. “Give me a minute.”
I sit as he walks off, and when he returns, he has his phone and keys in hand.
“You ready?” I ask.
He nods, and I follow him out.
He has a driver.
Actually, I’m glad he does. It might impress my father a little more, though I’m sure my father knows more about him then I do. My only winning card is knowing more about his penis and what he sounds like when he comes.
I hope so anyway.
We stay quiet most of the drive while Whiskey works on his phone, and I worry. I hope to god my father doesn’t lose his shit at me about surprising him with an engagement and marriage.
Shit! Fuckity, fuck, fuck! My palms are sweating as we pull up, and I have to remember what I’m here for. My mind goes blank while needing to remember why I’m doing this and that it’s for the right reasons.
“Just breathe,” he says next to me.
Damn! I almost forgot he was there. Almost.
“Easy for you to say.” I slide out, and the minute I do, he steps to my side. Whiskey touches my hip, and just before I can push him away and tell him to fuck off, he leans in close to whisper in my ear, “Probably best you don’t do that. Especially since we are madly in love.”
He’s right, and I hate him for it.
Leaving his hand where he placed it, we walk up the stairs. As we get to the door, my mother opens it. Her usual perfectly fake smile is on display. She eyes Whiskey while she holds the door open. “This is a surprise. We weren’t aware you were bringing a guest, Lottie; hello Whiskey.”
I nod and it’s all I can do right now because every ounce of fight and sass—or whatever you want to call it—has completely left me in this moment.
“Pleased to see you again, Mrs. Snow,” Whiskey says with a voice I don’t recognize. He’s super nice in a perfect gentleman way. I’ve never heard him use that voice before. Asshole.
“Yes, as you can tell, I’m very surprised to see you,” she says, but it’s laced with venom. Whiskey doesn’t seem to care about her tone of voice.
“It’s a pleasure to see you,” is all he replies as he looks around. His hand stays firmly on my hip, and my mother’s eyes narrow to it.
“What is this?” Her eyes flick to my hip then back to me.
“Is father free now?” I ask, trying to avoid the inevitable.
“I hope you aren’t bringing him bad news, Lottie.” Her eyes narrow on me, and Whiskey squeezes my side firmly.
“No. Is he free?” I ask again.
Mother starts to walk, and we follow her to his office. Father’s sitting at his desk, his phone to his ear as he waves us in. When he looks up, his eyes drop to Whiskey, who’s sitting close next to me.