Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 202(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 202(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
My career was on the line, but this mission had become more than that. As I stared at one picture in particular, I often felt it was Eddie daring me to approach. The facial expression almost possessed a level of charm you would find in a billionaire at a fancy cocktail party. There was no threat, but there was something in the way his head tilted, the way his mouth smirked, and the way his rich eyes twinkled.
“I dare you...” the picture taunted. “I fucking dare you to enter my world.”
I needed a break. I had been working nonstop since the shooting, but I wasn’t getting anywhere. I knew that Dylan Bush was feeling the same way with his case against the Moretti family, and it killed me that we weren’t making any progress.
Turning away from the pictures and walking over to my window, I stared down at the patrol car that had been stationed in front of my apartment since the church massacre. Maybe my life was in danger. Maybe it wasn’t. But the NYPD wasn’t taking any chances and had been so kind to have someone guarding me at all times. At first, it had felt extremely invasive. I had always been a very private person my entire life, so having someone overlooking my every move unnerved me. I would attempt to hide from their protective eye much to the dismay of the police department. Lecture after lecture had informed me they were there to help and not harm. So now, as I stood in the window wearing nothing but an oversized Harvard t-shirt that hung mid-thigh, I no longer cared. If the rookie agent wanted to steal a peek of my bare legs, then so be it. I was home and wanted to be comfortable. Wearing a suit and five-inch heels every single day meant I was desperate for casual clothing the minute I walked through my door.
It was dark outside... really dark, but I could still see the shape of the car. I often wondered what the cop did in the car for so many hours. What did he think about? What did he do? Did he play with his phone and surf social media? Or did he react to every single movement and car driving by? My neighborhood was loud and active at all times, so if that was the case, the man would have his hands full all night.
My phone rang, interrupting the study of my bodyguard. Walking over to the table, I uttered a groan when I saw it was my father. I was half tempted to not pick up, but I also knew he was relentless and would keep trying all night until I took his call.
“Hi, Daddy,” I said as I sat down on the couch. I stared at the wall of Eddie Vasco as if it were completely normal to do so.
“Hello, ladybug. I’m calling to make sure you’re going to the Hamptons this weekend with your mother and me.”
I had been dreading this question. The last thing I wanted to do was go to the Hamptons and especially with my parents. The high-class life of privilege and wealth wasn’t for me. Plus, every single time I went to the family estate for a weekend, my parents would try to set me up with some silver spoon-fed boy I could barely stand. I was the classic workaholic, had zero social life, but nothing was worse than a dinner date set up in the Hamptons.
“I really wish I could, Daddy, but I have to work. Since the shooting—”
“Yes, ever since that day your mother has been a nervous wreck. She keeps telling me that I need to get you out of that job. That maybe private practice would be better.”
I swallowed down a deep sigh that struggled not to erupt from my body. “I’m close to becoming a D.A. This is what we always wanted. One more high-profile case and—”
“But your mother has a point,” he interrupted again. “You could be wasting the best years of your life chasing this dream. You aren’t getting any younger, and though your career is important, so is marriage and children.”
“Daddy—” This lecture was so damn old.
“We were really excited about the Hamptons. We’re having the Millers over for dinner on Saturday. Their son is coming too. He’s a financial analyst who is just visiting for the weekend.”
I would lose this conversation unless I did something drastic.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. But I am being sent to Chicago,” I lied. “For about a week. The tickets and hotel have already been paid for. I really wish I could have gone.”
There was a long pause before my father said in a low tone, “Your mother is going to be so disappointed.”
“I know. But I can’t get out of this. It’s work, and my reputation is on the line.”