Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
He nodded. “She called me in my office this afternoon. I think the idea is great.”
“You sure you’re okay with me leaving you alone?”
Dad set the plate down and came toward me, touching my shoulders. “I’m fine. I’ve been feeling guilty for the way you’ve been taking care of me. That’s not your job. I’m capable of taking care of myself. There’s takeout and I have Marianne for company.”
It was the first time he’d really mentioned her, and he sounded happy. I smiled. “That’s good. I’m glad you found someone.”
Dad looked away, sighing. “I’ll always love your mother, you know that.”
“I know,” I said, and kissed his cheek. “She’d want you to be happy.”
“And I want the same for you, Evie. So go to Sydney and enjoy yourself. Spend some time with Fiona. Go surfing.”
I laughed. He had never seen me attempt any kind of sports, or he wouldn’t suggest that kind of thing. “I’m going there to work, not to enjoy myself.”
Dad chuckled. “You sound like me.” He took out his wallet and pulled out several hundred dollars. “Here. For your ticket.”
“Dad—” I knew Dad earned enough money, but from an early age he and Mom had taught us to work for our money.
“Take it.”
I did. “Thanks.”
“And promise me you’ll have fun. Work isn’t all there is to life.”
“I think you should listen to your own advice,” I teased.
Excitement bubbled up in me. I was really doing this.
My excitement, however, diminished somewhat when I searched for information about Xavier on the internet and found photos of his former assistants. An onslaught of images hit me. Wow, he was going through assistants fast. Fiona had mentioned that none had stayed very long, but judging by the sheer number of assistants I found on the internet, he couldn’t have kept any of them for more than a few months. What was wrong with this guy?
And these women, and all of his assistants were women, looked absolutely nothing like me. They were Instagram influencer material. The million-dollar smile, every strand of hair perfectly arranged. All of them had been the fitness model type. Lean, trained, not a gram of fat. I looked down at myself. I was curvy.
I couldn’t help but wonder if that was exactly why I had been chosen. I was the safe, less gossip-risky option.
Something clung tightly to my back and a too-hot breath hit my shoulder blades. Here we go again. Why did they all have to be clingy? If I wasn’t too lazy to throw them out right after sex, I’d never let them spend the night at all.
I unfastened the arm from my waist and swung my legs out of bed, blinking against the bright sunshine filtering in through the panorama windows. What time was it?
I got up, stretched, then turned to find last night’s conquest sprawled out on her back with a flirty smile. In bright daylight she looked less tasty than she had last night. Her makeup was smeared under her eyes, and her hair was the fake blonde I absolutely loathed.
“Xavier,” she purred. “Why don’t you stay in bed?”
Because I’d rather run a grater over my balls than have you touch them again. “I have training.” I looked around for a way to find out the current time.
Damn it. I stalked down the winding staircase into the lower part of my loft, looking for my mobile. Where had I left it when I’d stumbled in here with Fake-Blonde glued to my cock?
Something black on the wood floor next to the entrance caught my eyes, and I retrieved my phone from where I must have dropped it when Fake-Blonde had scratched my balls with her fake red nails.
“Fuck,” I groaned when I saw that I was already one minute late to training. That made every day since my last assistant had smacked my cheek with a few Russian curses and never returned. One of these days the coach would act on his threats and put me on the bench.
No time for breakfast or coffee. I jogged up the staircase where Fake-Blonde was still lolling about on my bed like a cat in heat. “Hurry!” I snarled as I walked past her, through my bathroom and into the walk-in closet. I slipped on my gym shorts, no time to look for underwear. My teammates had seen my meat countless times, and so had half of the cheerleaders and a considerable number of Sydney’s female population aged between eighteen and sixty-two (a regrettable incident Connor would never let me forget). Grabbing a shirt, I returned to the bedroom, only to find Fake-Blonde still in my sheets, but now she was playing with herself.
I was moments from seriously losing my shit. Did she really think she could convince me to have another go at her only because she fingered herself when I’d already shoved my dick into every opening of her body last night? Usually, I handled situations like this with charm and lies, or rather let my assistants handle them, but I was out of time and patience. “Take your greedy fingers somewhere else, and get out of my bed and apartment. I’m done with you.”