Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“Was there anything else you needed?” I asked when we stepped back.
He smiled down at me. “Nope. Forcing you into a conversation was the only thing on my to-do list.”
“How nice for you.”
He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me to the exit. “It is, actually. See, I’m retiring. Therefore, I can pass the big things off for others to handle. Like figuring out a replacement auction item when a socialite diva backs out of our huge annual auction,” he said with a wink.
“God,” I groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
Kissing my cheek, he opened the door and stepped out. “I’m assuming Lucian will be your date, and you’ll share your engagement news with everyone at the gala this weekend?”
Before I could respond, the last person I ever wanted around for this conversation spoke.
“Engagement?” Emily asked.
My smile vanished, and my eyes snapped to her wide blue ones.
Oblivious to the tremor of shock vibrating between us, my father leaned into the blonde and stage-whispered behind his hand. “Don’t tell anyone just yet, but my daughter and Lucian Daire are engaged,” he said with a proud smile, fully immersing himself in the role of supportive father.
Time stood still, and I held my breath.
Emily’s lips parted, and a wrinkle marred her smooth forehead.
Dread coiled around my chest and squeezed.
“Oh, well…” She blinked, and despite the hurt flashing across her face, pasted on a smile—one much more convincing than any I gave my dad in my office. “I’ll be sure not to tell.”
“Emily…” I said, without a clue what to say.
“I have to deliver these,” she cut in, holding up a stack of folders clutched in her arms. “Congratulations on your engagement.”
I watched her walk away, a chaotic mess of thoughts running amok in my mind.
You don’t owe her an explanation.
If you hadn’t said yes, it could’ve been her.
She hates you for lying about seeing Lucian when she asked in the coffee room last month.
But I hadn’t been lying. Had I?
The knots in my stomach made me believe I had—at least by omission.
No, we hadn’t been together.
No, we weren’t a couple.
Yes, he spanked me and made me come.
Yes, I agreed to be the submissive to his dominant.
Yes and no. Neither answer made her hurt features any easier to see. Neither one dismissed the guilt filling my chest.
“Everything okay?” my dad asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
I shook myself back into the moment and focused on ending the conversation with my dad on a good note. “Yeah,” I answered, wishing I could smile as well as Emily did. “All good. I just have to get back to work. Gotta solve the diva issue.”
He huffed a laugh and wished me good luck before heading off.
With my lackluster smile dropped, and my lip firmly held captive by my teeth, I shut the door and collapsed onto my couch.
“Fuck,” I muttered to the empty room. Closing my eyes, I inhaled, stretching my lungs to the max before exhaling. I held my hand to my chest and breathed again, focusing on the rise and fall of my chest—centering myself to just breathing. Nothing more. Nothing less.
But the weight of my hand left me craving more—a heavier hand. A larger one. One that came with a deep voice. One that kept me centered with touches to other parts of my body. Sharp, stinging touches that released the pressures of guilt, doubt, and stress.
“God, I wish Lucian were at the office today,” I whispered, as if saying the words too loudly would force me to acknowledge the depth of my confession—that maybe I didn’t hate having Lucian in my life. That maybe I was starting to like it.
Scrunching my face tight, I shook my head, trying to dislodge the thought.
But I couldn’t because, in the same breath, I yearned to check the clock and see how soon I could go home. To him.
I reasoned the desire away with excuses about using him to ease the tension and to get the most out of our agreement, but they didn’t sit right. The words not lining up with the warm eagerness sliding through my veins when I imagined finding him on the corner of the couch, reading, an ankle resting on his knee, his shirt sleeves rolled up, baring tan, veined arms, backlit by the twinkling city lights of the skyline behind him.
No, the words didn’t line up with the thrilling jolt of excitement when I thought of going home, but if I wanted to get there, I needed to get back to work.
Which meant I didn’t have time to acknowledge the quiet voice whispering concerns that I should be careful with those feelings. Instead, I continued with my plan to show my father that I could be the CEO this company needed by working my ass off. That plan, now, happened to have the added benefit of leaving work early.