Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
“I—” I pull myself up short because honestly, I have no fucking idea. “That’s a very good question.”
“I’m telling ya,” she says, getting comfortable on the toilet again. “You pissed off the spirit world.”
I turn around in the shower and tip my head back under the water to rinse the shampoo out of my hair while secretly hoping she’s right. Kind of. Being haunted by an angry ghost is better than the alternative of being brutally murdered by some psychotic stalker, right? But something tells me that a ghost isn’t capable of leaving a black rose in the middle of my autopsy table.
Fucking hell. Am I seriously entertaining the idea of it being a ghost . . . or spirit? I’m a woman of science, for fuck’s sake. There’s no such thing as the spirit world. What happened last night, that was real. I felt it in the way the hairs stood up on the back of my neck and the way my gut sank with unease. That shit doesn’t happen for nothing. While I might not believe in ghosts, I certainly believe in a woman’s intuition, and last night, it was screaming at me.
After finishing in the shower, I grab my towel and dry off. Then as soon as I step out onto my fuzzy bathmat, the bathroom turns into a whole production line. Makeup and hair products spill off the counter while Izzy dives through my underwear drawer, figuring out which pieces would work best with my new sexy CEO outfit for the night.
“So, what are the chances your mom’s been screwing around on Daddy Slater?” Iz calls from my bedroom, still digging through my underwear drawer.
My face immediately scrunches with distaste. From the moment my mother started dating her current husband—Elias Slater, aka, my stepfather—Izzy has been obsessed, and she hasn’t been shy in letting me know.
Izzy is all for the sugar baby lifestyle—not that she needs it—and Elias offers just that. He’s tall and mysterious with the whole salt and pepper thing going for him. There’s no denying that he’s attractive, and while he certainly gives very serious don’t fuck with me vibes, he’s always been nice to me. But when I look at him, all I see are the bags of money my mother is sucking dick for. She’s fooling herself if she thinks she’s going to get her grubby hands on it. Elias would have that money locked up tighter than the facelift she got last year.
His brother on the other hand . . .
“You’re grossing me out,” I call back.
Iz strides back to the bathroom, propping her shoulder against the door frame while holding my black lace thong. “God, I would be such a cum dumpster for that man.”
Ughhhhhh. “Excuse me while I throw up.”
Izzy laughs and pushes off the door frame, striding into the bathroom and shoving my underwear at me. “What’s the problem? You don’t approve of your bestie being a semen demon for your daddy dearest?”
“I—what?” I mutter gaping at Izzy. “Semen demon? What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”
“Just keeping it real, baby,” she says, fishing for my hairbrush in my bathroom drawer. “But in the spirit of keeping it real, what do you think he’s like in the sack? I bet he’s a beast. Don’t you think? With a body like that and those eyes. Good lord. The things I’d let that man do to me.”
“You have real issues. You realize that, right?”
Iz laughs. “What are the chances of you bringing a plus one to this thing tonight?”
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn her. “Mom is still salty about the time you offered to give him a handy under the table at the Christmas party. Trust me, you showing up tonight isn’t going to do me any favors.”
“It’s not you I’m looking to do favors for,” she tells me, a wide smirk cutting across her lips.
“I don’t know if I’ve told you this lately, but you’re gross. I need to bathe in a sea of bleach after hanging out with you.”
“Says the bitch who spends her nights talking to dead people and playing with intestines,” she laughs.
I go to argue back, but the words get caught in my throat. She’s got one hell of a point, and there’s not a damn thing I can say to defend myself right now. I do speak to dead people, and I have been known to spend hours at a time playing with intestines. However, my idea of playing most certainly differs from Izzy’s.
All I can do is grin back at her, and not a moment later, we dive back into getting ready. Izzy works on brushing my hair while I prep my skin for makeup. Then soon enough, I’m standing back in front of my full-length mirror, gazing at the woman staring back at me.