Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Something I would burn for.
I need to remember why I'm here. Who I am. What I have to do.
His knee presses against mine, and I don't move away.
Fuck.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
Chapter 4
Ivy
Jord: You should probably not log in to any social media this week. The masses have found your Instagram.
I reread his words before typing out a response.
How?
Hmmm… I have no idea.
I check my account, hitting all the new alerts and stop dead. “Holy shit.” One name jumps out. Asher.
I type out another text.
You're not smart. Why would you follow me?
Asher: Why would I not?
Sixty days since Asher tore through my existence like shrapnel. He dulls Parker's bullshit to background noise, but overall, it’s useless. There are no exits. No mercy. Just a slow bleed that’ll eventually kill you.
I have to fly to some mysterious island tonight to sign the ownership forms of this house.
I'm coming with you.
No, you can't. The masses have already found me. What if they see us together?
Nothing. Silence. No notification.
I don't let anyone tell me what to do who isn't on my dick. I'll meet you at the airstrip.
My mouth falls open. “Motherfucker!”
I know there’s no point arguing with him. All that ever got us was coming too close to kissing.
Almost.
But I'm not doing that. Now or ever.
Another text comes through and I click without looking, thinking it's Asher.
It's not.
Unknown: It has been interesting to watch you unfold with this young man. May I remind you of the fundamentals?
He doesn't need to. No one does.
***
“I told you you didn't have to come!” I snatch the keys the air host hands me as we land on the tarmac. Snow whips down around the jet, clouds of it kicking up against the tires.
“Yeah, and I told you fuck no. So shut up and let's go sign this.” He tilts his head and I hate when he does this. When he dissects every secret I keep buried.
And I have a lot.
“Inherited family home, which happens to be—” He flashes his phone screen to a banner posted on Facebook. I try to focus on the words, but notifications cascade down the top. DMs and texts. Weird emojis and I'm pretty sure I saw the words but you've already seen me squirt.
Gross.
I jerk back, glaring at him. “That's disgusting, Ash. I don't want to see your private shenanigans.”
“What?” He jerks back, offended, checking his phone. His mouth twitches. I’ll kill him if that’s amusement.
He pins me with a stare that almost looks apologetic, but the dark rings in his eyes darken. “Sorry about that, Venom. But!” Then it's gone. “Did you see the poster, or were you too busy stalking my texts?”
I unclasp my belt as the light flicks off. “First of all, ew, I wasn't stalking your texts. They were forced onto me and burned my retinas, along with a few brain cells, but no, I admit I missed the poster.”
I gesture for the phone back and he hands it over without hesitating before turning to the air host.
The first annual Winter Games will be held on the winter wonderland of Veilarath. Consisting of three of the deadliest slopes recognized by man, this prestigious island has agreed to host our first games, with thanks to our major sponsor, Asher Jameson. Asher is the grandson of Wickham Jameson the fifth, but carved his own path amongst the snow community when he was twelve years old after winning an Olympic medal at his age. Well, I guess you'd know the rest, unless you've been living under a rock.
Participants are INVITE ONLY
To secure your limited tickets, follow the following link.
Please note: Veilarath is renowned for its privacy laws and we adhere to them. No paparazzi.
I pause, tapping on the link. I'll shelve the questions about how Asher got an entire island appreciated for its reclusiveness to agree to what could turn into a circus.
The link loads onto a webpage.
Tickets to purchase a front seat spot of Winter Games select from one of the two charities. Minimum buy-in $5,000.
Charity One: Universal Mental health facilities for public health boards.
Charity Two: Shelter for domestic violence and sexual assault victims.
Accommodation and flights not included and good luck securing them.
I hand his phone back, the words churning in my head at speeds I need to stop.
“I have many questions.” All of which should be how he got to Veilarath, but none of them outweigh the one.
Why those charities?
Over the past two months, Asher has made it his mission to fill my time with himself. Every day. All day. Sometimes all night. Not once have I asked anything personal. Not once has he offered it. I prefer it this way.
“Tell me I'm great.” He flashes me a wicked smirk that makes my heart race.
I wipe my palms. “You're great, Ash.”
My smile dies because I meant it. He was great.