Protege King (Wall Street Empire – Strictly Business #1) Read Online Lisa Renee Jones

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary Tags Authors: Series: Wall Street Empire - Strictly Business Series by Lisa Renee Jones
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Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
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He may have the last word, but after today, there is nothing he can say that will hurt me.

Chapter Eighteen

Alana

Act like you belong and people believe you belong, therefore you do belong.

This was my motto at Yale, and in fact, my survival. All my life, if I’m honest. I live this belief, breathe it, and therefore, I’ve mastered the art of this attitude like no other. With that thought in mind, I walk out of the building and past security with my chin held high. I can only hope my change of attire and confidence will deter interest in Damion West’s most recent conquest.

And Lord, help me, that’s what I am.

I wonder if I’m a list that includes younger women, older women, at least one teacher, a brunette, and a redhead?

I exit the building without disruption or much notice into a warm sunny morning, cutting left and starting my walk home. My parents’ place is a good mile away, which means my newly procured sneakers are a better choice than the high heels in my backpack, or rather, the other woman’s backpack. I can feel a pinch in my chest at this idea, all of my bravado about being fine with all that has happened between me and Damion wavering but not gone.

I’m strong. I will endure. Okay, so I might actually cry a little, but shortly after, it will be dry eyes and Damion behind me for good.

My phone pings, and I snag it from my pocket where I stuffed it, doing so with that pinch in my chest biting harder. I never even looked at my phone earlier, which really goes show how out of sorts this Damion thing has me. Worse, I hate that I hope it’s him texting me. I hate the anticipation I feel over his potential call, and that just the idea is fire in my belly. With a deep breath, I glance at my screen with utter disappointment to find a message from my mother: I’m about three seconds from calling the police. I’ve called you and texted you ten times! I’m so worried, it’s making me sick.

While the content of her message, which is obviously extreme—but, oh, so my mother—hasn’t escaped me, I move past her message, seeking another. There is no other message, not even one from Sally asking about last night, which is a whole other thing that is really gutting me right now. She simply can’t handle me and my social recognition, but she’d have expected me to support her if this had gone in her direction, not mine. She’s really not a true friend, and that’s a pretty hurtful realization.

As for my mother, I swear I texted her last night after the pizza and first round of bedroom sex. I check my log and turns out I did, but the message didn’t go through. I call her. “Hi, Mom.”

“Oh my God!” she gushes. “Do you know how worried I have been?”

“I’m sorry. I sent you a text and it didn’t go through. I was with a friend. It was a great night, and I didn’t want it to end.” It’s the truth, no matter how ironic now.

“What friend?” she queries.

“I’ll tell you all about it when I get there,” I say, sidestepping that can of worms, which she will have plenty to say about. “Are you home?”

“No. Your dad and I have a huge commercial showing today. You can tell me over dinner. Just don’t scare me like that. You really had me worked up.”

I notice she doesn’t say anything about Dad, and it feels odd. Was he worried? Was he off gambling? Or am I just sensitive right now? Probably. Most likely, which is why I say, “Good luck with the showing.”

“Thank you. It’s a big close. We, ah…well, we’re excited.”

Because they need it, and this premise has me worried about law school. Maybe I need to look for a job. It’s not the best way to approach law school, but I can make it work.

We end the call and a few minutes later, I’m home, which doesn’t feel like home at all. Jersey will always be home to me, but as I walk in the front door of my parents’ apartment, I decide today is the kind of day to embrace fresh starts. I need to leave the past behind me. If my parents need to do the same to better themselves, I have to support them. Especially if I want them to consider new ways of approaching our business model as a family-owned business. I know from talking to my mother that the pandemic stressed the company’s bottom line, as it did to so many businesses, but it’s also proof we need to diversify. We need the legal component with real estate sales to become a solid, economy-resistant business.


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