Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“What?” I exclaim, because it’s not that he insulted Clay, but he’s insulted my way of being.
An empowered woman who has sex when and how she wants it.
Also… he just called me lady, which is beyond disrespectful.
“I’m not a boy, and I’m not a toy,” he says with a smirk. “I’m the big leagues, and I don’t scratch itches. I create them, then soothe them, then create them all over again. I’m the type of man who would make you beg.”
I blink at him, stunned he’s talking to me so brashly, but I’m savvy enough to know he’s doing it on purpose to get a rise out of me.
His mouth curls into a wry grin. “Kind of like the way you’re here now to beg me to be your goalie.”
I’m absolutely speechless, and his smile peels back into a delighted sneer that he’s rendered me so.
Drake starts the engine and it bellows, filling the air with such a guttural burst of noise, I scramble backward.
Without another glance at me, he backs the bike out of the driveway. It emits a deafening roar as he pulls away.
I’m only befuddled for a moment when my business acumen kicks in. He’s not the first difficult man I’ve dealt with when trying to make a deal, and he won’t be the last.
He doesn’t intimidate me in the slightest, and now that I know what I’m dealing with, I will change tactics.
Like I said, I can run in these heels, and I do so now, flinging myself into the back seat of the Town Car. “Follow that motorcycle.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the driver says, and we take off.
Drake doesn’t speed but seems to like a leisurely pace through the countryside. As such, it’s not long before we catch up to him, and I see him in the distance, pulling off the road.
When we pull up, I take in the low-slung, cinder block building with peeling white paint. A dilapidated, crooked sign reads Duke’s Bar, and it’s exactly the kind of place I’d expect Drake to hang out. He’s already inside, helmet propped on his seat, another dozen bikes lined up in the parking lot.
“Do you want me to stop?” My driver is dubious, and I am too.
“Yes, please.”
It’s with head held high that I step inside the bar, and it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. There are no windows, and the walls are covered with dark paneling. The only illumination is from neon beer signs and lights over three pool tables.
There’s no place on this earth I could be more out of my element. Duke’s is a dump with a sticky floor and the stale, musty smell of sweat and beer.
Every head turns my way, and a glance around the bar tells me I might not be all that safe here. Grizzled-looking men with leather vests eye me like I’m a piece of candy.
A foreign, exotic candy, but sweet all the same.
Scantily dressed women with heavy makeup look like they want to kill me as I present a temptation they can’t offer with my fine clothes and confident bearing.
No matter… I’m Brienne Norcross, and I’ve stared down scarier foes in the boardroom.
I spy Drake at the end of the bar just as a young woman with a tight tank and flirty smile slides a beer in front of him. She’s pretty, braless, as evidenced by her nipples poking against the thin fabric, and I’m betting the type who doesn’t have one boy toy, but multiple.
Not that I think there’s anything wrong with that—more power to her—but I need Drake’s attention right now.
I march up to the bar and take the stool next to his. He doesn’t need to crane his neck to see me as he’s watching me through the mirrored wall behind the bar.
The bartender looks toward me, eyebrow cocked in suspicion, as if I had inadvertently wandered in off the street. “Can I help you with something?”
“Yes,” I say with an engaging smile. “I’ll pay for his beer, and I’ll have a glass of wine. What do you have?”
The woman snorts, and Drake chuckles.
“What’s the joke?”
“We don’t have wine,” she replies. “We have beer on tap and beer in a bottle. We’re not fancy here.”
My face flushes and I nod toward the taps. “Whatever he’s having.”
I let it remain silent between us until the woman returns with my beer and I give her a fifty. “Keep the change.”
She ogles the green in her hand before breathing, “Thank you.”
When she moves away, I angle toward Drake. “Is this how you spend your days? Drinking?”
“I’m having one beer.” His tone is unbothered. “That’s all I’ll drink when I’m driving, particularly on the bike.”
“Where are your kids?”
“They spend Saturdays with their grammie.”
“Your mom?” I ask, surprised he’s offering conversation.
“She’s the only one they got,” he replies irritably.