Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 126589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“I can’t say I’m entirely blameless, we both were equally responsible and maybe—initially—it was almost fun to see if I could get a rise out of him. But at some point, it stopped being fun and I used to dread having to spend any time in his company. It got ugly. Nasty. Too personal. On both sides.”
“I’m happy that you’ve stopped gunning for each other, Beth, but I have to say, I’m concerned that whatever is happening between the two of you now is not necessarily a step in the right direction.”
“Nothing is happening between us.”
“Really? Because you can’t take your eyes off him for more than five seconds at a time, your face, and eyes—even your voice—go soft when you talk about him. I saw that kiss, Beth. That kiss was hot. It was dangerous. I worry that you’re both playing with fire and you’ll both wind up burning yourselves. And yes, part of me is selfishly concerned, that this—more than your previous enmity—could fuck up our group if it goes south. Because if you fall in love with him and it doesn’t work out, we’ll be back to the Beth and Gideon days, only it’ll be so much worse than before.”
“I’m not going to fall in love with him,” Beth whispered, even while a voice deep down in her subconscious, called her a damned liar. “This is n-not about love. This is about possibly forming an alliance as former enemies. An alliance based on mutual respect.”
“You’re so full of bullshit. And if Gideon is on board with this, then he is too.”
“We know what w-we’re doing, Cat.” Yet another lie.
Cat sighed. The sound was heavy and filled with despair.
“I hope to God you do, Beth,” she said wearily, before plastering a bright, not quite authentic smile on her lips. “Now tell me what you’re going to be wearing to this fancy party while you’re hobnobbing with the ultra-wealthy.”
“‘Four wheels and an engine’, huh?” Beth threw Gideon’s words back at him as she eyed the sleek, beautiful metallic blue McLaren GT—almost the exact same color as his bike—parked out in front of her house, the following Friday afternoon. Gideon slanted her a crooked grin.
“She’s a beauty, right?” he asked, his voice deepening with pride. “A twenty-first birthday present from my mother. It was the last gift she ever gave me.”
“Aside from your inheritance, you mean?” Beth asked pointedly, and he blinked at her, seemingly distracted by that comment. She’d told him before that the bequeathments from his grandparents and mother were gifts, but this was the first time she actually saw her words sink in.
He stared at the car for a long moment, before clearing his throat awkwardly.
“So does the ride meet madam’s satisfaction?” he asked in a corny French accent, and she chuckled.
“I don’t see how that thing has more legroom than my Fiat. And it’s crouching so close to the ground, we’ll be dragging our asses all the way to Franschhoek.”
“It has more legroom,” he assured her confidently while he stowed their three bags in what looked like truly tiny boot. He draped their garment bags over the top of the luggage.
“I hope my dress doesn’t wrinkle,” Beth said, worrying her lower lip with her teeth as she stared at the garment bags in dismay.
“If it does, they’ll have staff at the house to take care of it for you.”
He helped her into the car like a gallant prince and once he sank into the other bucket seat, Beth was ready to regale him with some facts.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this but sports cars have the highest fatal accident rate across all segments of cars. We’re talking like 4.6 cars every billion miles or so. That’s twice as often as normal cars.”
“Is that so?” he asked, while clicking buckling his seatbelt. “Where did that bit of information wind up eventually?”
“An insurance assessment guide.”
“Interesting factoid,” he said. “So you’d better buckle up, just in case.”
She hastily put on her seatbelt.
“Are you more nervous about the car than you were about the bike?” he asked, his eyes on her hands, which were anxiously fidgeting with the belt.
“I’m not nervous, it’s just a somewhat alarming statistic, that’s all.”
“Hmm. Something has you fidgety as hell. If not the car, then what?”
“Well, it’s not every day a girl gets to meet her mortal enemy’s family, is it?”
“Aah. Don’t be nervous about that, sweet. It’s not worth it.”
He didn’t know where the endearment had come from. She wasn’t sweet. Far from it—she was tart and feisty and a little mean-spirited when the mood took her—but damned if the endearment didn’t suit her.
“If you say so.” She didn’t sound convinced. But then she shook herself determinedly and gave the interior of the car a decent look. “This is a really nice car.”