Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“Hey, fucker—Oh a pretty lady.”
My eyes snap to the most beautiful African grey parrot I’ve ever seen, and I laugh when he tilts his little head to the side to get a better look at me.
“Are you here of your own free will?” the bird asks, earning a scoff from Wren. “Do you need assistance? Come here and let Daddy help you.”
The bird moves back and forth on a perch that runs the length of the room.
“That’s Puff Daddy,” Wren explains as he takes a seat in an office chair that looks like it belongs on a spaceship. “I’ve had him since I was a teenager.”
“Puff Daddy?”
My smile grows wider when the bird starts bopping its head up and down.
“I traded him for some work in high school. He already had the name.”
“He’s cute,” I say as I reach up to pet him.
“Don’t touch the goods unless you’re buying, lady.”
I snap my hand back. “He doesn’t like to be pet.”
“I’m not a dog,” he squawks.
“You’re an asshole,” Wren snaps back.
“He’s very fluent.”
“Mostly cuss words and inappropriate shit.” Wren doesn’t even look ashamed to own a foul-mouthed bird.
“Just mad. Just mad. Just mad,” Puff Daddy says on repeat.
“For fuck’s sake,” Wren mutters. “Here we go.”
“Why is he mad?” I ask.
“Because my dick’s bigger.”
I choke on a laugh, covering my mouth with my hand, but Wren just grins and flips the bird off.
“Deacon fucking hates him.”
“He lives here?”
“Have a seat.” Wren uses the tip of his sneaker to push another rolling chair in my direction. “I take him home when I go, but I spend most of my time up here though.”
Puff Daddy calms down when Wren stands and pours some food in a little silver bowl, but there’s a wicked grin on his face when he sits back in front of his computer.
“This is a lot of equipment,” I observe as he begins typing something.
“Wanna have some fun?”
“I’m not really into online games.” He mentioned playing them the other night. “But I guess I could try.”
“Not games.” He winks again, and I almost open my mouth to remind him that he also told me he’s not very good at social interactions with women. “Give me the name of the one guy you dated that you wouldn’t spit on if he caught fire.”
“Benito Ricci,” I respond immediately. “We dated—”
“Your sophomore year of college.”
My eyes widen like saucers when I look at the computer screen. “How in the hell?”
Looking back at me is a picture taken at a college football game. I’m looking up at Benny, and of course my ex-boyfriend has his eyes glued to another girl’s ass. It’s so easy to see how much of a jerk he was now, but back then, I thought I’d marry that idiot.
“Want to know what he’s been up to?”
“Not really,” I answer truthfully.
“Divorced, twice,” he reads from the screen. “Is engaged again. His fiancée and girlfriend don’t know about each other.”
“Gross,” I mutter. “Dodged that bullet, I guess.”
“Wow. This guy is a total douche.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Let’s cause some trouble for him.”
“Nothing illegal,” I hiss. “His father is a high-powered attorney. I don’t want you to get sued for messing with him.”
He snorts a laugh. “I won’t mess with him too bad, but if you change your mind, let me know. I don’t get caught.”
He types away on his computer, screen after screen flashing too fast for me to be able to tell what he’s doing.
“And done.” He presses a final key with flair.
“What did you do?” My eyes sweep the three screens in front of us, but I can’t decipher the information. It’s all written in numbers and the English alphabet, but it still looks like a different language.
“I set alarms on his phone to activate in the middle of the night.”
“That’s not too bad.” He honestly deserves worse.
“And I set up a date with both women at the same time. They’ll know about each other by the end of the evening.”
“Nice,” I praise. “Let’s see what else you can do. Look up—”
A phone rings, cutting me off. Instead of picking up a phone, Wren slides a headset over his head and answers.
“Your ears must be ringing,” he says instead of hello. “Anna and I were just talking about you.”
What the hell? Is Benito calling him?
“Why are you talking to Anna?” The familiar voice fills the room, and it shocks me because I didn’t expect for him to be on speaker phone.
Not Benito. Deacon.
“She got bored, so I had her come to the office.”
“Take me off speaker,” Deacon snaps, and with the press of a single button on his keyboard, I can no longer hear what the jerk is saying on the other end of the line.
Wren frowns as he answers questions, but his responses give me no detail about the topic of conversation. The call only lasts a minute or two before Wren hangs up and pulls the headset off his head.