Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“That’s not a good idea,” he says with his hand still held out. “I’ll take it.”
I stare at him through the opening between two large iron bars. Something’s off and raising red flags too fast for me to grab my armor. “We’ve never met, so how do you know my name?”
“I make sure to know who’s invading my peace and threatening my family.” What the hell? What does that mean? I shake my head as confusion rattles my game plan. His words don’t just smack of arrogance; they’re meant as a warning. A warning to me or for me?
“Sir . . .” I take a breath to compose myself from glaring at him. His antagonism is winning, and I can’t let him. “I’m not a threat to your family, Mr. Stansbury.” I catch a shift of light in the upper left window in my periphery, and it pulls my attention in that direction. The curtains sway like someone was watching, and now they’re hiding from sight.
Dread sets in. Have I been fooled? Played by Sosie? No. She wouldn’t do that. I may not know her well, but I know her well enough to know she didn’t only reveal her body to me last night. She revealed her soul. That look in her eyes when I was inside her showed me we were something more than one night.
The pounding of my heart reaches my ears as it begins to feel like the opportunity to see her is slipping through my fingers. I take a step closer and lower my voice. “I come with good intentions.” I keep the desperation out of my tone, but it’s racing in my veins, trying to hold on to anything that keeps me connected to the best night of my life. This can’t be all there is for us. No.
His silence is unsettling, the empty palm still waiting to be filled. I shift, my gaze volleying twice between the window and the man standing in front of me. “If she’s home,” I say, my words staggering. “I’d, um, like to speak with her.”
Shoving his hand through an opening in the gate, he demands, “Give. Me. The phone.” The words are as cold as the weather, leaving no room for misunderstanding. Warming up to the guy isn’t an option. He’s closed off that opportunity.
My hands fist, but I keep them at my sides. “Please, Mr. Stansbury—”
“I’m going to call the police if you don’t give me the phone.” Silence burrows between us as we stare at each other.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. He doesn’t blink, but I do in hopes of appealing to his humanity, if there is any. “Your daughter means a lot to me—”
“Don’t talk about my daughter. Don’t contact her. Don’t come to my home. Do you understand, Mr. Matthews? If you so much as look in her direction, I’ll destroy you. NYU will be a failed memory. Your scholarships will be wiped from your accounts. That mother of yours—”
“I’m not a threat to you or your family, Mr. Stansbury. With all due respect, I care about your daughter—”
“You don’t know my daughter. You might think you care, but Sosie is careless. You’re just another guy she spent time with to piss me off.” The sharp blade of his words pierces my heart. “She loves to play these games, and you fell for it. I feel sorry for you, Mr. Matthews . . .” Sorry for me? He feels bad for me, looking down from the marble pedestal that he’s built on the backs of others like me?
Fuck that. I slam my hand against the gate, rattling it. “Fuck you.”
“Temper. Temper, Mr. Matthews,” he says, under a stilted chuckle. “We’re filming you.”
“Film me all you want. I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m here because—”
“You came here to return her phone. So return it and go.”
Hope bleeds from my chest as I finally realize who I’m dealing with—the rich, the powerful, the elite of this city. I have no weapons left to fight this battle. Maybe he’s right, and I did foolishly fall for his daughter. Maybe I’m just another guy who fell for Sosie, though that connection still feels damn real to me. With nothing to say that will change the trajectory of this conversation, I reason through why it’s wise to turn the phone over to him. But my heart just can’t seem to get on board with that decision.
“What do you want?” he asks. “Money?” He digs into the interior pocket of his jacket and pulls out his wallet. Too stunned by the insult, I scoff. “I’ll give you a reward for returning it.”
I stare at the hundred-dollar bill he’s holding through the slats and then drag my gaze back to his. Disappointment, even shame, and a lot of frustration still flurries in my veins, but I keep my voice calm. “I don’t want your money. I want—”