Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
It’s as if a fist reaches up from the bowels of hell, shoves itself inside my chest, and all but rips my heart from my body and grabs ahold of my insides and twists.
The journal slides from my grip and the leather backing all but slams shut, but its words are far from silenced in my mind. I swear it still shouts at me, smoldering words of contempt I feel with slashes of a blade. Anger burns inside me with the certainty that contempt is well deserved.
I snatch my phone from my pocket and dial the detective on the case, only to be thrown to voicemail. I leave Detective Wallace a message. “I’m still waiting on an answer. How long was my father involved with Allison? Call me back, Detective.” I disconnect, uncertain why I need to know that answer but, on some level, I am aware of my clawing need to find a way that this is not my fault when that’s a coward’s ploy.
I’m accountable for my actions and to some degree, his as well.
My eyes fall on the journal and my desperation to escape its scorn has me reaching for the remote control. I turn on the TV only to hear a newscaster say, “How will Tyler Hawk handle the legacy of the name and the firm he’s inherited when that legacy is now murder?”
I curse, turn off the TV again, and down my drink.
The door buzzes, and I set my glass on the table with unnecessary force, drawing in a calming breath. I’d say whoever is here has security clearance, therefore is friendly, but I just had a reporter at my door after slipping past the guard in the lobby. Everyone wants a piece of the Hawk family pie right now. I’d ignore whoever dares come to me today, but they’re already knocking again. “Holy hell,” I grumble, hands to my knees as I push to my feet, briskly striding to the door with every intention of making whoever is on the other side go the fuck away.
I unlock the door and swing it open, only to find a blonde bombshell in a black funeral dress standing in front of me. And not just any bombshell. This is Bella Bailey, an attorney for Hawk Legal, and agent to the rich and famous, who, under my tutelage, now represents a growing list of A-listers. She’s also the half-sister to Dash Black, the author who turned an assassin he hunted when he was in the FBI into the star of his bestselling novels. Dash wasn’t an A-lister when I hired his sister, nor was he my friend. He is both of those things now, though the friendship side of the equation is complicated at best.
As is my relationship with Bella.
One might call me a moth drawn to the flame, but she would be the one burned if I ever touched her. Thank fuck Dash has always stood between me and her. Meanwhile, there was Allison, alone in this world, and exposed and vulnerable to the likes of me, and apparently, my father.
“Why are you here, Bella?” I demand softly.
“Because I knew you’d get dressed to go to the memorial but never leave your apartment.”
I narrow my eyes on her. “And how would you know that?”
“I learned the art of observation from the best,” she says, adding without hesitation, “you. I know you better than you obviously think I do.” She indicates the bag in her hand. “Ice cream. My favorite way to cope with every bad thing life throws my way and often the good things, too. And yes, I can eat a whole pint and I don’t mind if you watch.” She moves forward as if to enter the apartment.
I step left and block her entry, the bag in her hand colliding with my body. Her bright, baby blue eyes go wide, shock registering with a soft whoosh of air from her lips. “This isn’t a good idea, Bella.”
“Ice cream is always a good idea, Tyler.”
She’s one of the only people at the office who dares to call me Tyler, which I blame on her brother. Maybe those lines he drew between us are not that wide after all. “This is not a good idea,” I repeat.
She laughs, a soft, amused laugh, that should surprise me but does not. This is Bella, after all. She knows how to handle big egos, big wallets, and impossible financial negotiations, and rather than a jaded mentality that often comes with experience, she manages a demureness that feels as genuine as the day I met her. “What?” she challenges. “Are you going to bite?”
“Among other things, if you’re not careful,” I assure her. “I am not in the right state of mind for you to play the sweet little girl rescuing me.”