Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
“Now, for the issue of payment…”
I reached into my chip bag and dropped a handful on the surface of his desk.
And, hey, I will say this for Carl Center: he wasn’t a crook. He grabbed the handful he needed and passed the rest back to me.
I answered my questions, refilled my coffee while I waited, then had a folder in my hand when I made my way out of his office.
I didn’t know if it was the food, the caffeine, or the paperwork itself, but I was feeling a lot more human when I made my way back to our hotel.
“Hi!” I greeted the same man I’d talked to about my phone earlier. “So, I lost my keycard to my room,” I told him, rattling off my room number and my name. “What?” I asked, dread filling my system at the confused look on his face.
“It looks like you checked out, Miss… Mrs. Valentine.”
“Clearly, I didn’t. Everything I brought with me to Vegas is still in that room.” Including a hell of a lot of money in chips. “What did you do with all my things if you checked me out?”
At this time of day, that meant someone would have already cleaned that room so they could turn it over.
“Right. There is a note here. You requested to have your things packed up and moved to—”
I didn’t wait for him to finish that sentence.
That son of a bitch.
I mean, what the hell was his problem?
And how was he one step ahead of me all damn day?
Because he wasn’t hungover.
Had he even been drunk?
I did remember him having a drink in his hand, our glasses clinking together, and the scent of whiskey came back to me in a wave so strong it made me nauseated all over again.
He had been drinking.
Just not as much as me.
So he was refreshed enough to get me clothes for the day, get ahead of me to the fast food place, get to the chapel around the same time as me, and empty my room while I went to the lawyer.
A grumble escaped me as I made my way into the elevator, trying to ignore the memory that rushed back to me. Of Harrison following me into the elevator, of the wall at my back, him pressed tightly against me, his lips on mine, sparking a million little fires.
The chime of the doors stopping at the penthouse had me jolting.
I rolled my shoulders and charged toward the door, slamming my fist into it hard enough to make it rattle in the jamb.
“Darling,” Harrison greeted me as he pulled the door open. His stupid, charming smile was in place. His jacket was off, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. Was there anything sluttier a man could do than roll up his sleeves like that?
Another growl escaped me.
“You know, I’m starting to wonder if I married a werewolf with all the growling you do.”
“About that,” I said, slapping the file folder into his chest.
He reached for it automatically.
“What’s this?”
“Annulment papers. With very clear wording about how I don’t want your money, just to be done with you. Sign them. Then all this is over,” I said, brushing past him and into the penthouse.
It looked even neater than it had earlier.
The bed was changed.
There were fresh vacuum lines in the carpet.
But all my things were sitting on the table in the kitchenette.
I made a beeline for the boots on the floor, shaking them.
“Dammit,” I groaned when they were empty.
“Layna,” Harrison said, making my head whip up to find him gesturing toward a chip rack. The kind that the dealers had. My chips were all stacked neatly inside it. “I would never steal your money.”
“I didn’t think you did it,” I said, getting to my feet and taking the rack. “I thought the staff found them.”
I sat down, taking out my chips bag and stacking the remaining ones into the rack.
“Sign the papers, Harrison,” I said, glancing up to see he had the folder tucked under his arm. He hadn’t even glanced at it. “The wording is very specific about me not wanting your money. Run it by your lawyer. He’ll be happy.”
“I’m sure he would be. But I’m not sending it to him.”
“Why the hell not?”
“I already told you this morning. I don’t want a divorce.”
“It’s an annulment. Since I wasn’t able to consent to the marriage.”
I jerked my chin up, daring him to contradict me.
“You saw the same footage I did,” he said. “You consented.”
“I was drunk.”
“No, you weren’t. Not sober, maybe. But not drunk.”
“Maybe I should have done the drug test,” I mumbled to myself.
“What?” Harrison asked, his voice a hushed whisper. My gaze flicked up to find him watching me with an unreadable look. “I did not, and would not ever, drug you, Layna. Go ahead and get a test if you need it for your own peace of mind.”