Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
“Oh, that’s right.” I shake my head, and smirk, “You’re Jett Powers’s wife.” I turn to the sink to run my cigarette under it…that, and to get away from her bad vibe.
“No. I called the wedding off when I found him fucking my daughter.” She reaches over and tosses her cigarette in the sink as I raise a brow at her. Any other woman I would feel compassion for; but there’s something about her that isn’t right.
“I’m sorry, that must have been difficult.” I turn off the sink, vaguely remembering seeing Jett and a gorgeous brunette at one of Gia Fontaine’s showings, but looking at Rachel, that can’t be her daughter.
“It was…enlightening. But I’m a survivor, and I have Courtney.” She leans her hip on the counter as her eyes lock onto mine. Yeah, she’s most definitely a bitch.
“Well, let’s hope you do your job right; there’s a lot of PR companies out there.” I smile at her, and that’s when her eyes give her away. It’s just a flash, but she’s ugly inside and hiding something.
Jesus, Courtney can really pick ’em, no wonder Malcolm is so desperate for me to help her.
“Ammo.” She leans closer to me. “I need you to understand that Courtney is mine. She’s like a daughter to me. It would be a mistake to think you can come between us.” She slithers closer, her voice low, and for a second I just stare at her before I start laughing.
This woman is batshit crazy. Courtney is hers? I’m done, my patience has reached its quota for today. I’ll talk to Court tomorrow, right now I need to leave before I say or do something I’ll regret.
“Do your job and we shouldn’t have any problems.” I pocket my phone, and start toward the door. I refuse to engage with this woman. The more attention you give them, the more damage they do. I learned that the hard way.
“Tell our Courtney I’ll see her at eight in the morning,” I say over my shoulder.
COURTNEY
“I’ll meet you downstairs.” Ammo’s blue eyes bore into mine, and for a second I stop breathing. Then he turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him. I overhear his deep voice saying something to one of my security team as I turn to look at myself in the mirror.
“What have you done, Court?” I bite my swollen top lip.
You just fucked Ammo.
Like, fuck, fucked him.
Like I need to call Melanie and brag because oh my God…
“Stop smiling.” I scold myself because he’s still a narcissistic prick.
But he’s got a giant dick, and he knows how to use it.
Oh my God. Great, now I’m going to have to read that stupid tell-all book about him, just to see what it says.
“Just stop.” I lean my hands on my cool sink. I need to think, no, I need to get downstairs. Just remember who and what he is. It doesn’t matter that he just made you come twice, nothing has changed. Also, let’s be honest, the fact that he just said we need to talk means he regrets it, so stop smiling.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, but all I see is his gorgeous face, that jawline, his tan arms…his mouth, saying filthy, nasty things.
“Jesus.” I exhale slowly, opening my eyes. For God’s sake, just get dressed and go eat pizza. I probably do need therapy. Clearly, I’m emotionally stunted.
“You’re twenty-three, act like it,” I puff out, reaching for my face crème to slather wherever a wrinkle could pop up. Not that it’ll help a thing right now. My cheeks are on fire and my lips are already red and puffy, and is that a hickey? I move closer to the mirror. My whole right side of my neck is red from his mouth and his stubble.
“Whatever.” I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling again.
Get it together, Courtney.
I shake my head trying to stop the memories as I march out, heading straight toward my giant closet.
It was another bedroom that I had made into a walk-in. It’s also one of my favorite places in my house…it’s ridiculous, I know, it’s a closet, but it makes me feel safe in here.
With the dark cherry wood, all my shoes, costumes, clothes, are arranged and hung perfectly. I also have a giant ornate couch in the middle surrounded by full-length mirrors.
Yanking a black halter dress off a hanger, I’m trying to talk myself down because I’m freaking out and I don’t like it.
It’s not like I’m a virgin, but after the betrayal with Johnny and Roxy I was so humiliated, I kept everyone away. Just threw myself into work, or locked myself up in here. I mean, had Ammo not thrown me against the bathroom wall…
“Jesus,” I groan. I slapped him, dug my nails into him, Holy shit, I bit his lip. I look around as if my closet is judging me, which is ridiculous as my stomach flutters. God, Ammo loved it. What’s worse, I loved it…what does that even mean?