Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“Amelia?” she says, so many questions in her voice.
“We kissed, and then he left. He just fucking left, like he’d proven his point.” I look at Abbie, finding her eyes are even wider. “What kind of fucked-up bastard is he?”
“And did he prove his point?” she asks quietly.
“Yes. Yes, he proved it.” I bury my face in my hands again. “He dared me to say no to him the next time he asks me to have dinner with him. Oh my God, Abbie, I gave him exactly what he wanted.” I’m such a fucking idiot.
I feel her arm come around my shoulders. “Don’t you think it was kind of inevitable?”
“Probably,” I murmur. “I just . . . I don’t know. I get the feeling there’s more to him than I’m seeing.”
“You mean a multimillion-pound estate in Oxfordshire?” she quips, and I laugh over a pathetic snivel as she leads me to the couch and sits us down.
“And the temper,” I add. “After he kicked away a colleague’s chair, he had Clark up against a bar.” My brother seemed drunk enough to swallow my pile of bullshit. I hope. For fuck’s sake.
“But you still let him kiss you.”
I wilt, sheepish, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “Actually, I kissed him. The first time, anyway.” I pout, pointing to the split in my dress that’s now reaching my thigh. “He broke my dress.”
“Shit, I love this dress.”
“I know,” I grumble, tugging at the material, hoping a seamstress will be able to fix it. “So how was your night? I’m sorry I didn’t make it for our cheese coma.”
Abbie chuckles, falling into my side, and cuddles me. “Utterly boring compared to yours, by the sounds of things.” We both exhale collectively and collapse against the back of the couch together. “Go to bed. You’ll be thinking more clearly in the morning.”
“Okay,” I say quietly, staring into space.
I dare you to say no when I ask you to have dinner with me again. I fucking dare you, Amelia.
Thinking clearly?
That’s proved impossible around Jude Harrison.
Chapter 13
The rest of the week drags, and I limp my way into Friday. I’ve struggled to concentrate and have been checking my phone repeatedly. He’s not been in touch. I hate that I’m constantly wondering why. Clark called me the morning after, throwing questions at me. I stuck to my bullshit story. And he didn’t question it, although I sensed mild suspicion.
Tilda Spector was right, Mr. Neilson emailed me this morning with instructions to get the ball rolling on cashing in his investments, ending my week on a low. It’s left a hole in my portfolio and made my target even bigger. I should be winning business, growing my portfolios, not losing investments and leaving a higher hill to climb for partner. On top of that, I had to listen to Leighton Steers spout off about his new connection with the Cartwright sisters, two wildly successful—but utterly dull—entrepreneurs from Liverpool, who he’s buttering up. They’re an overnight success story, their creator tech tools exploding. Fuck, that would be a good catch for him and undoubtedly earn him mega praise from the partners.
I tap my pen on the edge of my desk, in a daydream, half my mind devoted to whether Leighton is going to screw up my chances of making partner, the other half wondering why the hell Jude Harrison blew my mind with his mouth, finally got me where he wanted me, and then walked away, leaving me standing breathless and dizzy in the ladies’. My hand clenches around my pen, my knuckles turning white.
“Shit,” I whisper, dropping it and pushing it across my desk, my eyes following it. “Why did you walk away?” I startle when my phone rings, and I scramble to pick it up, but drop it again when I see who’s calling me. “Fuck.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. My feet wedge into the floor and push my chair away from my desk. Distance.
But I want an answer.
So I swipe it up and take his call. “Yes?”
“So cold,” he says softly.
I inhale slowly and quietly, trying to relax. “What can I do for you?”
“Come to dinner with me.”
I dare you to say no. I fucking dare you, Amelia.
I purse my lips, flicking my loose hair over my shoulder. “Thanks, but no thanks.” I hang up and yell at the ceiling. What the fuck am I doing? Getting up, I start pacing my office, cursing constantly. I’m being childish. Playing that game I insisted I wasn’t playing. Proving my point? What the fuck is my point? I want to have dinner with him. I want to let him invade my mind and body.
I. Want. Him.
And now, after tasting him, I crave him so badly. “So what the fuck is your point, Amelia?” I shout, throwing my arms up.