Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
My eyes bulge from my head, and when Emma turns around, she’s smiling. “That felt good. Okay, you can talk to him now.” She walks off, smiling as she goes, leaving me standing there with Whiskey on the other side of the door. That is, if he hasn’t left already.
Yeah, there’s no way he’s leaving. Whiskey is the type of man to always get the last word in. This instance is no different.
Walking up to it, I pull it open with a shaky hand and see him still there. He looks me over as I yank the door open wider to let him in. Whiskey is dressed in a suit. Much like he was when I went to visit him when I signed the contract. He looked good then, but he looks even better now. Whiskey doesn’t have his suit jacket on, just black slacks and a white button-down shirt. His sleeves are rolled up, showcasing forearms which are strong, tanned, and ones I remember very well from when they were wrapped around me.
“Your roommate seems—”
“I can hear you, asshole!” she yells, making me smile as I shut the front door.
“Interesting.”
“Good choice of words, asshole!” she yells again.
Taking a deep breath in, I walk away from the door, leaving it open for him to enter as I pull out a seat at the table. Our apartment is pretty big, almost a loft-style. Our open-plan room with windows that are floor to ceiling, our two bedrooms are at the end of the apartment but before that is our kitchen and living room which you have to walk through to get to the bedrooms. In between is a large rectangular wooden table with six white chairs surrounding it.
He sits at one end while I sit at the other, attempting to stay as far away from him as possible.
“What do you want to know?” His fingers tap on the table, and I glance at him—really look at him. He’s always been very handsome. But now, the older I am, I appreciate the way he looks. Whiskey is a very attractive man. His chiseled jaw has considerately less stubble since last time I saw him. His strong, tanned arms are corded with veins. A watch sits on his wrist, and I know it’s expensive because it’s the same brand my father wears.
“When do I have to move in?” I ask. My hope is that I have time to get everything squared away in my life before I have to completely immerse myself in life as a married woman.
“When the marriage is official. But it may be better to do so before that so your parents don’t get suspicious.” His fingers tap again, those whiskey eyes locked on me.
“What do you get out of this?” His stare doesn’t leave mine, and I feel like fidgeting in my seat.
“You,” he states, staring at me.
“No, there has to be more than that. No one just says they want to marry someone and records having sex with them. You had motive. So, tell me, what it is?”
“That I cannot do.”
“Does it involve me?”
“No. You were just the bystander. A pleasant one, I might add.”
“Do you do this often?” I ask, dropping my head to the side as I wait for him to answer.
“What, exactly?”
“Arrange marriages for yourself using blackmail?”
He chuckles at my words. “No. And I never intend to do it after you, either.”
I cough and look away.
“You don’t believe me?”
“No. Why should I? Because why do it in the first place? What’s to stop you from doing this again to another poor woman?”
“You aren’t poor, for one. And two, I have my reasons, and at the end of this, I will tell you.”
“So, not before then?”
“No.”
“Do you have any feelings for me at all?” My legs squeeze tighter as I wait for his answer.
“No. None. You are a means to an end.”
“So, no sex?”
He smirks at that. “Not unless you beg for it.”
That won’t happen. Ever.
“Will you be sleeping with other people?”
“Possibly.” My mouth opens at his words, but I say nothing. “Unless you beg, of course.”
My forehead pinches together. “Is that meant to make me feel better? Do you really think I would beg you for something I have had.”
“No.” He smirks. “But I do recall you screaming my name.”
“You must have misheard,” I say in a voice that is high but fake.
“Would you like me to come with you when you tell your parents?” He reaches for something in his pocket and slides it toward me on the table. I look to the familiar blue box.
“What is this?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. “Do I really have to wear a ring as well?”
“Yes, it has to be believable. This will make it believable.” Reaching for it, I open the lid. It’s beautiful. Simple. And everything I would have picked for myself, should I have had the opportunity. “If you don’t like it, we can exchange it.”