Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Does she nest against her pillows the same way she snuggled against me?
My mind flashes with an image, those skimpy pajama shorts stretched across her ass. The long, toned line of her legs.
The softest belly—red fucking meat for any man who wants to make a woman shake—and that hazy, sex-drunk look in her eyes that doesn’t match her starving artist persona.
Good looks run in the Blackthorn family like gold. She could’ve been a model if she wanted. To kiss me, she must’ve been diseased, struck with temporary insanity.
Can’t fathom why else she’d—
Stop, you braying fucking donkey.
Stop thinking about it now before you dig your grave deeper.
Nothing feels more impossible.
When I finally crawl into bed, there’s faint light outside the windows.
I’m too exhausted and pissed off to do anything except pass out into an unsatisfying sleep.
I oversleep.
Big fat surprise.
When I pry my eyes open again, it’s midmorning, and I should’ve been up almost two hours ago.
So much for my run today.
I run through the shower instead and change before heading down, not remotely ready to start the day. My brain feels like it’s been rolled in beach sand.
Cleo’s up already.
I hear her voice as I reach the bottom of the stairs, coming from the library. It sounds like she’s on the phone, speaking softly, every word a little strained.
That protective urge I’ve never managed to dim around her flares back to life. I head to the open door, pushing an ear against the wood as I listen in.
“Oh, yes. Right,” she says tightly.
Silence.
These doors are damnably thick.
There’s no way to hear what the other person says, but I listen harder anyway. The other person, it’s a toss-up between Fairfax and her father.
From what little I know, her old man’s an expert at making her sound disappointed. Like she’s hanging on to her composure by a thread.
None of my business, I know.
Still, it takes everything not to barge in and figure out what’s wrong so I can fix it.
Leftover dad instincts, I guess. Even if my interest in her feels anything but fatherly.
Being away from Kit for this long, I don’t know what to do with myself, and it blurs into my job.
Then she gasps.
I tense.
More silence.
Fuckity.
Dead, sickly silence, the kind where she’s barely breathing. I imagine her frozen with wide, glassy eyes, staring into space, shell-shocked.
“I see,” she whispers after a long pause. “This is just… it’s a lot. I’ll have to think about it. Okay, yeah. Bye.”
Screw it.
I push the cracked door open just in time to see her phone drop into her lap as she stares off into the distance.
She looks pale this morning. Tired shadows hang around her eyes, hair pinned up in a tight bun, legs underneath her as she perches in a big armchair.
Her gaze snaps to me and her brows knit together.
“Let me guess, you were eavesdropping?” She squints at me.
“Yes.” No point in lying. I sink into the chair next to her, even though all I want to do is pace the room. “Who called? You sounded deflated.”
She exhales, massaging her temples the way she does when she’s overwhelmed.
“That was Fairfax. He just called to tell me that none of the letters with the egg have a signature that could be authenticated back to anyone important.”
Damn.
I knew some shit was coming, knew this guy was bad news, but this sits in my gut like a cold rock.
“The documents were written by understudies. That doesn’t necessarily make it a forgery or anything, but he said it makes them harder to insure against destruction or theft. That could be a problem if it goes on the market.”
“A fucking insurance issue? Are you kidding?” I sit up straighter, bracing my hands on my knees. “Bullshit. What did you tell him?”
“I’m not stupid, Holden.”
“Never said you were, Nile. None of this sits right with me.”
“Calm down! He came back with an ‘adjusted offer,’ he called it.” She toys with the hem of her shirt. I catch a flash of her belly and force myself to look away. “Ten million dollars even. Supposedly fair for the issues with the paperwork.”
“Not fair,” I bite off. “You thought it could go for three times that, maybe more.”
She smiles weakly. “He called it a favor. He’s willing to buy and take on the risk for a piece with less than gold-standard authentication. He said it almost never happens.”
“By throwing you scraps. He planned this,” I growl. I’m speaking from the gut with no proof. “It’s worth a lot more. Watch him find whatever proof he needs later on and flip it for a lot more.”
“Holden, don’t. Ten million dollars is… it’s still a ton. More than enough to get me a nice studio almost anywhere I want.”
“It’s a rip-off. Frankly, he’s trying to fuck you over.” I bite my tongue, ignoring the flash of surprise on her face.