Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Smells good,” he growls, and sets his keys on the marble.
“Thanks,” I say, and my voice jumps an octave. “It’s just salmon and, um, some veggies. I didn’t know what you wanted.”
He circles the island, leans on the counter, and watches me stir. The kitchen is high-gloss everything—counters, appliances, even the backsplash—and the light throws tiny reflections everywhere, catching the sweat on my neck and the freckles on my arms.
“I’ll like whatever you cook,” he says. “I’m sure you’re excellent.”
I laugh. “Maybe you should wait to taste my food before giving me compliments.”
He grins, but doesn’t answer. His gaze lingers on the hem of my dress, then drifts up, taking in the full inventory. My heart does a painful double-flip, but I keep stirring, pretending I don’t notice.
“How was your day?” I ask. The question lands between us, domestic and almost wifely, and for a second I wish I could snatch it out of the air and take it back it because why did I ask that? Why did I make it sound like we’re an established couple in a loving relationship, when actually, Trevor’s a billionaire asshole who’s forced me to become his sex slave?
He shrugs, but the line of his jaw is stern. “We’re ahead of schedule. Counterpoint’s going to IPO next year, and the team’s already celebrating like it’s over. A lot of hand-wringing from legal, but that’s expected.” His eyes flick back to mine. “It’s always a fucking shit show.”
I nod, like I understand, but the truth is, I don’t. I barely grasp what Counterpoint even does—something with artificial intelligence, machine learning, and the word ‘platform’ used as both noun and verb. What I do know is that it pays for this penthouse and all the food in the fridge, and that Trevor works more hours than anyone I’ve ever met.
He watches me taste the veggies again, and then says, “And you? How was your first day of indenture?”
The word makes me flush, but I try to play it cool. “Pretty good, actually,” I say. “I got a lot done.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Like what?”
I look at the stove, then back at him. “Um, I did most of your list.”
His smile gets sharper. “Which parts?”
I swallow. “I quit my job at The Fig Leaf. Angela was really nice about it, but I think she thinks I’m running from an abusive boyfriend. But I didn’t tell her about you or anything.” I say this last part fast, in case he’s worried about security or whatever.
His eyes crinkle with amusement. “Great. I thought you’d give at least a week of notice.”
I swallow. “I told her it was urgent. She understood.”
He nods, and the look of approval is so potent I almost drop the spoon. “Good. And the rest?”
I take a shaky breath. “I moved my stuff from my old apartment here. Some of it, anyway. There wasn’t a lot. But the closet in my bedroom here is too small, so I put some of my clothes in the one off the kitchen.” I pause, then force a laugh. “Hope that’s okay.”
He makes a sound low in his throat. “You can put your things wherever you want, sweetheart. There’s plenty of space.”
My face goes pink, and I try to cover it by fussing with the stove. “Thanks, and I like my room,” I fib. “I like the twin bed. Reminds me of when I was little and makes me feel safe.”
He says nothing, but the silence has a weight to it.
I scrape the salmon onto a plate and bring it to him, then sit at the island with my own food. The light outside is shifting, the windows tinting the skyline a bruised lavender. For a minute, we eat without talking, just the soft scrape of forks and the hum of the fridge.
After a few bites, he says, “And the rest of the list?”
I blink, then remember. I pick up my water, take a tiny sip, and set it down with both hands wrapped around the glass.
“I went to the pharmacy,” I say, and my voice is so small I have to repeat it. “I got the stuff you said. Condoms and Plan B. And… I didn’t know if you wanted me to get on, like, hormonal birth control too? I’ll have to go to the doctor but just so you know, I’m not on anything right now.”
He tilts his head, eyes suddenly bright. “The condoms are fine. You’re a young, healthy woman and hormonal birth control is fucking insidious. Even after women stop that shit, the chemicals stay in your body for a long while, and can be hard to flush out. So no, we won’t risk that.”
I squint at him because is he implying what I think he’s implying? Does Trevor want to get me pregnant at some point down the line? The thought blows my mind, and I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just nod, the motion stiff and awkward.