Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“He’s not,” I say clearly, resolutely, as I find my friend again. She isn’t helping. Not one bit. “Tell me the plan for Saffron’s birthday,” I order, wondering how we veered back onto Sharp.
“Well, it’s at The Picturedrome.” She grins. “Flashy cow hired the whole place out. Bet Daddy’s paid for it.”
I roll my eyes. Unlike Heather and I, our friend Saffron doesn’t think twice about squandering her father’s money for such luxuries. “And she claims to be independent?” I could laugh.
“I know,” she agrees. “But you’re not so independent now, either, are you?” She nods past me again, but this time I refuse to look. I just need to pretend he isn’t there.
He’s not there. He’s not there.
I fight the urge to turn and get a fill of his lovely face, wondering how we managed to veer off subject to Sharp again.
My wondering is silly.
It’s not like he can be ignored.
Chapter 7
JAKE
You can’t protect someone who doesn’t want to be protected. You need compliance and cooperation. She’s giving me neither. And it makes me want to wring her beautiful, obstinate neck.
After she hugs her friend good-bye and sashays to her car, she leads me on another merry dance around London, all the way to her apartment in Mayfair.
I pull down into the underground car park, only to find no available spaces. I see the smug look in her eyes as she collects her shopping bags from the trunk of her Merc…so I dump my Range Rover behind it. She can’t go anywhere if I’m blocking her in.
Once she has rounded up all her bags and heaps of files, she pivots and her smug smile drops like a rock. I slide out of my car, pulling out my bag behind me. I came prepared. I answer her question before she can ask. “I’m sleeping here, in case you were wondering. It’s part of the contract and your father has insisted.”
Her lovely lips straighten. “This is a violation of my human rights.”
“Take it up with your father. I have my orders.”
“Well, I’m ordering you to leave me alone.”
“You’re not paying me, Miss Logan.”
“How much?”
I raise interested eyebrows at her. “That’s confidential.”
“So you will literally do anything my father tells you?”
“Within reason,” I reply.
“Is running me a bath within reason?” She smiles sarcastically while I fight off the mental images that cute quip spikes.
“Depends if you want me to get in it with you.” I cock my head, looking to be waiting for a serious answer.
She snorts. It’s so cute, I almost crack a smile. Then she gives me a filthy look before she pivots haughtily and hustles away. “You wouldn’t fit.”
Not so cute.
I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes and start to follow her through a solid steel door and into a lobby, where big, elaborate gold mirrors hang at every turn. I have a good look around, confirming what I already know from my background checks. Card entry, three cameras, two elevators, one concierge. Daddy owns this building, and I’d put my last pound on the fact that Camille Logan doesn’t pay the going rate. I nod politely at an intrigued doorman, who nods right back. Then I wait for the elevator to come, standing a safe four feet from Camille. The doors are mirrored. Avoiding her reflection is a killer, so I divert my gaze and continue scoping out the building. Revolving doors, not very secure, despite the card entry, and a doorman who looks like he could be the twin of the old boy who protects Logan Tower.
A faint ding indicates the arrival of an elevator, and I do the gentlemanly thing and allow Camille to enter first when the doors slide open. Then, just as I’m about to breach the threshold myself, the doors close in my face.
I swear, I only narrowly miss head-butting the glass, but I manage to catch the satisfied smirk on Camille’s face before I lose sight of her. “For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, dropping my bag to the ground and clenching my fists. Breathing in some patience, I crick my neck on my shoulders and close my eyes, repeating a calming mantra.
Don’t strangle her. Don’t strangle her. Don’t fucking strangle her.
I’m tempted to put a bullet in my own head and put myself out of my misery. What the fuck have I signed up for? The other elevator arrives and I collect my bag and step in, pressing the button for the top floor. The lift travels way too slowly for my liking. She’s out of sight. She should never be out of sight.
“Pain in my fucking arse,” I mutter. But she’s a pain in my arse for oh so many different reasons than I imagined—irritating, annoying, painful fucking reasons.
I step out when the elevator finally reaches the top floor, finding what I knew I would when I round the corner in the corridor. Apartment 30’s door is firmly shut. I can guarantee the bolts, chain, and dead bolt are all engaged, too. Two minutes and I could be in, but I decide against utilizing my skills and instead rap the wood calmly. I’m not surprised when I get no answer, so I knock again, ensuring I maintain a calm, controlled persona. It’s hard when on the inside I want to kick the door in and wrap my palms around her slender, lovely neck.