Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 83800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I have no idea why I've let myself get so worked up today, but the annoyance I let settle for the day with no contact from him is still swimming inside me when I get into the house. I arrow toward the conference room without a single clue as to what I'll even say to the man when I see him.
I know the level of self-toxicity I'm dealing with. I know the man told me he was going to be busy today. I know that I've formulated a lot of shit in my head, created all these scenarios with very little evidence to base them on, but that doesn't change my mood one bit.
I deflate the second I enter the conference room and find it empty.
Maybe not seeing him when I'm wound so tight is the best thing. I know confronting him for literally doing nothing just because I seem to be in a mood I can't control isn't exactly sane.
When I turn to head toward the stairs with every intention of sulking in my borrowed room, I find Robert standing across the room, halfway between his office and the kitchen, watching me.
There's no smile on his face when he spots me. If anything, he looks more than a little disappointed at the sight of me.
I fight the urge to run my hands over my hair or swipe at my face in fear of something being on it.
"Hey," I say, my voice weaker than it should be, considering how irked I was just a minute ago.
"Morgan," he says in a way that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. "We need to talk."
As if summoning the entire household, the echo of loud boots swarms around me as every person who lives here except Kaylee walks toward me.
"Please," Bandera says, swiping an arm, indicating that he wants me to go back into the conference room.
"What's going on?" I ask even though my body is turning to obey his command without thought.
Bandera pulls out a chair for me, and my entire body shakes as I step forward to take a seat.
"Did something happen to Kaylee?" I ask, barely managing to keep a sob from bubbling up my throat.
"Kaylee is fine," Heathen assures me, his face not giving a single hint as to what's going on. "We just need to have a chat."
"A chat?" I ask as I settle into the chair. "No one has spoken, and it already feels like an interrogation."
No one chuckles or assures me that it isn't as they take their own seats. From the corner of my eye, I can see Robert settling into his desk chair, most of his body hidden by the massive row of computer screens. It feels staged and intentional that I can't fully see him, and it makes me wonder if the anxiety I'm starting to feel by not being able to watch him or look him in the eye is part of their plan to make me anxious.
"Tell me about Henry Stewart," Bandera says, more than a slight hint of demand in his voice.
My brows draw together. "Like what?"
"Like everything," Whiskey suggests.
I look to my right, trying to see Robert, but he has shifted his body, hiding completely behind the screens. I want to growl at him and accuse him of being a coward for letting this happen to me, but the insidious thought that he got close just to manipulate me begins to ring as alarms in my mind.
I swallow, trying to force away the pain and disappointment I'm feeling as I stiffen my back and make a point to look each man at the table in the eye. Twisted is the only one who looks even a little uncomfortable about this confrontation, but I know better than to think the man would be on my side in anything. Not when it's a choice between his teammates and me. I have no delusions about where I stand with them as they all glare at me like I'm hiding something.
"The first time you met him," Bandera prods.
"Was outside of the Thai restaurant," I respond. "Like I told you the first time I was asked."
"You were there with another man," Whiskey clarifies. "And you took Henry's number outside?"
"Correct," I all but growl.
"And then, within an hour, you were already sending him nude photos of yourself," Whiskey continues.
There's not much in life that I have felt shame for. I've always been a live-and-let-live type of girl, but the way he says it with that high-and-mighty inflection in his voice makes me question my life decisions. That, in turn, really pisses me off.
"I'm an adult," I snap. "I don't have to justify my consensual actions."
I sense Robert shifting his weight in his chair, but I refuse to look over at him. He's clearly not the man I thought he was if he's going to sit there silently and let these men treat me this way.