Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I plate some food and return to the sofa beside Beast. Hella sits on the mattress, his back against the sofa, shoulders nearly brushing my leg.
“Shit I have not slept that long in forever!” Yana announces, emerging from the bedroom.
“Morning, princess,” I smile. “It's fine. I made this!” I gesture to my plate. “They've already eaten.”
“Really?” She looks at Beast and Hella.
“I fed them, Yana. Relax.”
“Worked up a bit of an appetite early this morning, did you?” Hella smirks, winking at Yana. I glance between them, then to Beast, who shakes his head.
I roll my eyes, pushing up to head back to the kitchen.
As I pass Hella, his hand brushes my thigh, too deliberate to be accidental, too brief to acknowledge. The contact leaves a trail of heat that lingers long after and I hate myself for wanting more.
“You good?” Hella asks when I come back with a glass of water.
“Yup!” I head back through to the lounge. “I'm out. I need to meet the investor soon.” I grab my purse from beside the couch and check my phone. “Shit, I'm running late.”
Hella rises in one fluid motion, stretching arms overhead. “I'll take you.”
“That's completely unnecessary.” I brush past him toward the door. “I have my own car.”
Beast clears his throat. “Not after what happened at the club. Someone targeted them, and now you're mixed up in it.”
“I'm not mixed up in anything.” I spin around, hand on hip. “I've lived in Westbeach practically my whole life without getting blown up.”
“Congratulations.” Hella's voice drips with sarcasm. “Your perfect record's about to be broken.”
“Look, I appreciate the concern, but...”
“This isn't up for debate.” Beast's tone leaves no room for argument. “Hella will take you.”
“What if I need to go somewhere after? You expect me to call him like my personal chauffeur?”
Hella smirks. “I'll wait.”
My stomach drops. “No way.”
His eyes widen. “Yes way.”
I throw my hands up. “This is ridiculous! I'm a grown woman who can drive herself to a business meeting.”
“A grown woman who almost died last night,” Hella counters, grabbing a leather jacket from the couch. “Besides, if someone tries anything, I'm a better shield than your fucking Prius.”
“It's a Honda!”
“Even worse.”
Yana touches my arm. “Hey, just let him take you. Trust me. It's easier than fighting.”
I deflate slightly, glaring at Hella. “Fine. But this is a one-time thing.”
“Whatever lies help you sleep at night, princess.”
The motorcycle vibrates between my thighs, engine rumbling through my entire body. Wind whips my hair as we lean into a curve, and I tighten my grip around Hella's waist, fingers digging into solid muscle. I hate that I've spent the entire ride with my face pressed against his back, inhaling leather and that earthy, masculine scent that's uniquely his.
What I hate more is how much I love this. The speed, the freedom, the rush. Each acceleration sends jolts of exhilaration through me. The coastline blurs past, sunlight dancing across water, and for these brief moments, I feel weightless.
We pull into the parking lot outside my bakery and Hella cuts the engine.
I swing my leg over the bike, handing him the helmet. “You can go now.”
“Not a chance.” He leans against his bike, pulling out a cigarette. “I'll be right here.”
I roll my eyes, pushing through the bakery door without looking back.
Richard Donovan rises from a corner table, immaculate in his tailored navy suit. Dark glasses cover his eyes, scars marring the side of his face. I read online that he was the survivor of a housefire and chose to invest his inheritance into small business. “Ms. Hart, right on time.”
“Please, call me Melissa.” I shake his hand, sliding into the seat across from him.
He sets a leather portfolio on the table. “I've drawn up the preliminary paperwork. Three hundred thousand for a forty percent stake in your expanded business.”
I scan the documents as he slides them over. “This looks comprehensive.”
“I've been doing this a long time,” Richard smiles. “Now, this investment is contingent on you maintaining operations here while expanding to Eastbeach.”
My head snaps up. “Eastbeach?”
“Prime location, affluent clientele.” He taps a property listing. “The overhead is substantial, but the returns will more than justify it.”
I stare at the glossy photos of storefronts along Eastbeach's main boulevard. Pristine sidewalks, designer boutiques, luxury cars parked along the curb. Growing up in Westbeach, Eastbeach had always been the promised land, where success took you when you “made it.”
“It's perfect,” I whisper, envisioning my logo right there.
“Excellent.” Richard checks his watch. “Review everything, send to your lawyer, and we'll finalize next week.” The bell signals when he leaves, and I turn in time to catch Richard pause beside Hella, who's leaning against his motorcycle, smoke curling from his lips.
Richard says something, nodding at the bike.
Hella says nothing, just takes another drag, eyes tracking Richard's every movement. The investor shifts uncomfortably under that unblinking gaze, adjusts his tie, and continues to his Tesla.