Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Unfortunately for her, she was too much fun to loathe. I wasn’t ready to part ways with what we were, even if the relationship we were developing looked and smelled and felt like an incurable disease.
So, instead of being a grown-up and accepting her truth, I stopped her little lap dance by spinning and plastering her against my car. My hand was on her throat, which bobbed with a swallow, telling me that she was feeling the rush, the excitement of being at my mercy.
Fuck, Edie. You have no idea how merciless I could be.
I put as much weight on her as possible, enough for it to be intimidating, yet not painful. She could feel my erection, the ridges of my abs, my flexed pecs, and the way my sweat glued my shirt and skin together. I leaned into her mouth, knowing how much she wanted to be kissed, knowing I would never, ever give it to her.
“The only thing I’d ever apologize for is not getting to you sooner tonight. If I ever catch you spreading these legs for that tool, here or anywhere else, it’d be the end. Of you, of him, of everyone involved. As long as you hang out with my daughter—and that is what I expect you to do every Tuesday when she arrives at work with me—you’ll be celibate. You can grind yourself against the showerhead while you think about my cock inside of you, and you can play with your clit wishing it was my mouth, but no more fucking Bane, understood?”
She laughed and slid away from my touch and into the car, slamming her door in my face.
I walked around and resumed our drive, watching as she programmed her address into my navigator without answering me.
That was fine. I didn’t need her words. I needed her to understand.
Her jaw ticked, telling me that the message was received. Good.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME to find out about Trent Rexroth?” I dumped a pile of documents onto my father’s desk the following Monday morning, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. I’d spent my entire Sunday surfing, avoiding questions about Trent from Bane and trying to convince my mother to get out of bed and have dinner with us. I made couscous (the microwaved kind) and lemon chicken (from Whole Foods), and even made a perfectly edible salad, all of which I ate alone, in front of the kitchen TV. I was twenty minutes into watching a gruesome episode of a reality cop show before I realized I was chewing to the images of criminals throwing bottled piss at police officers.
Guess you could say I was distracted.
The nagging ache between my legs reminded me that Trent had played with my feelings, my sexuality, and my mind. Most of all, his notion that he could do this to me—control me the way my father did—made my vendetta against him almost mandatory. I wasn’t a toy to be controlled and tossed from hand to hand. My father held a very particular power against me.
Trent didn’t.
He was about to find out that I was no pushover, even as I, in fact, let Jordan Van Der Zee shove me around.
My father looked up from his laptop, rubbing his chin with his finger pads. Today, he wore a pale gray suit and a light blue tie, both of which had been tailor-made and purchased during his brief business trip a week ago. Which gave away the fact someone had ordered it for him.
A mistress, no doubt.
He was hopping on a plane that afternoon, flying to Zurich for a week. It was the third time he’d visited there in three months, which led me to believe he had a new shiny toy to play with. Whether he was really going to Zurich, I didn’t care. I was just happy he’d be gone for six days.
“Smart kid.” He clucked his tongue in approval.
Screw you, I answered inwardly. He was right. I was his little shadow puppet, ready to entertain every time he sent a flicker of light my way.
My father collected the documents I gave him and tucked them into a drawer he locked, considering my answer.
“Let’s start off by finding out whether he takes his laptop and iPad home with him, or leaves them at the office. The floor is wired at the reception, outside the bathroom and in front of the elevators. Having a camera in your office is a personal choice. Look for cameras on his ceilings, walls, or embedded in his furniture. Also, I want to know how many electronic devices he has with email and internet connections. And how often he uses them. If you can get your hands on one of them—bring it here.”
Wow, that was incredibly specific. And here I thought he’d give me the benefit of the doubt and wasn’t sure if I’d cave. He obviously had a detailed plan.