Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
“Shortbread.” He frowned. “I don’t think you’re at risk of depriving the world of a budding tech genius. In fact, when your phone freezes, you smash it against a hard surface instead of restarting it. I’ve seen you do it. Multiple times. You know nothing of technology and social media. Plus, virtually all of those people dropped out of Ivy League schools, which they did not require entire building donations to get accepted into.”
“Are you saying I’m stupid?” I added an insulted lilt to my voice, mainly to veer him off the topic of my unfinished college degree.
“No. You’ve proven to be incredibly smart.”
“Then, what’s the problem?”
“I won’t be married to an uneducated woman.”
“You should’ve thought about that before kidnapping one.” I began moving things around—pens, stapler, paperweight—just to leave my mark on this usually untouched room. Now that I thought about it, it could use some artwork. A splash of color, perhaps?
“You will finish your degree.” He clasped my wrist, gently drawing me from further messing up his workspace. “And that’s that.”
“Or else what?” I slid from his desk, straddling him in his chair now. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, peering into his face. “You’re going to kick me out to the Hamptons? To Chapel Falls?”
We both knew I wasn’t going anywhere. I didn’t know why or how, exactly, this had become a silent agreement between us, but I think in some messed-up, completely unhealthy way, whatever was brewing inside this mansion was better than the reality we both had lived before.
He grabbed my ass, grinding me against his erection. His jaw muscles jumped, eyes hooding. “Fuck it. I’ll buy you a degree.”
“I’ll burn it,” I countered. “I want people to know I’m self-taught.”
“At what? Sitting on the couch and licking Oreo cream?” His hard length parted my slit through our clothes, colliding with my clit. “At least become the chairwoman of a non-profit.”
I shook my head. “I’ll continue giving to charity behind the scenes.”
He examined me, perplexed. “Why?”
“Because I don’t need to impress anyone, and neither do you.” I leaned down to kiss him. He caught my lips in his, drawing me into a deep, tongue-filled kiss. “Now, should I get naked?”
“Certainly.” He pushed me off him, returning his attention to his work. “But only because what you’re wearing is an eyesore. I’m busy.”
Even though he low-key threw me out of his study, I was actually quite happy when I swaggered my way outside. This was our first non-toxic interaction. How pathetic that it made me elated. But alas, it did.
I went back to the kitchen to get a water bottle—I always got extra thirsty after our encounters—strolling past his office again on my way upstairs.
I halted, noticing he no longer had his eyes trained on the screen. His elbows now rested on his desk, and he cupped his head, staring downward.
He looked exasperated.
Dissatisfied.
And no longer in hate with me.
Chapter Forty-Six
Dallas
Romeo and I slid into a routine. A routine where I did whatever I wanted whenever I wanted, and he stopped bothering me about it. This mostly consisted of lunch dates with Hettie, trips to local libraries, and Henry Plotkin binges in anticipation of the fourteenth and final one. Not exactly life on the edge.
This evening crawled by like any other. While I hovered over the stove, forking down adobo pork belly before Hettie could even plate it, Romeo ate his boring chicken in his boring office. God forbid he get caught being civilized with his wife in front of his staff.
“You’re not a mop, Dal.” Hettie jerked the pot away from me. “You don’t need to lick the cookware clean.”
“It’s called efficiency. I’m saving water for the drought.”
“The one across the country?”
“It’s called patriotism, Hettie.”
“We both know you finish dinner in point-two seconds every night to kick me out early so you and Lucifer can get freaky.”
Since she’d spoken nothing but truth, I did exactly that, ushering her and Vernon out the door. By the time Romeo slipped into my room, I awaited him on my duvet, naked, Henry Plotkin in one hand and a highlighter in the other.
In truth, I counted the days, the hours, the minutes until my period. I wanted so badly to wake up in the morning (okay, afternoon) and discover I was late. Nothing would make me happier than being pregnant. I was sure of it. Even if my blessing would be Romeo’s curse.
Romeo strode to me and attempted to pry my fingers off the hardcover.
“Wait.” I pouted, tugging it back. “Madison is about to—”
He stood deathly still. “Madison?”
“The character. Henry’s sister.”
Madison the Scumbag, on the other hand? I hadn’t heard from him since the showdown at Le Bleu. I’d be lying if I said I felt good about the way we’d left things. Not from guilt. Madison used me as a tool against my husband, who then used me as a tool against Madison. If I were a judge, they’d both be convicted of crimes. It just sucked to know the three of us were stuck in this power, ego, and money limbo.