Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
“Are you kidding me?” I breathe out the thought. My eyes sting as I finally force them open. Sleep only found me a mere few hours ago. I’ve been trapped in a vicious, frustrating cycle of a severe bout of insomnia, whether that’s from pregnancy or contemplating life, I have no idea. I tossed and turned until my sheets were a tangled mess, and by the time the clock turned to three o’clock, I gave up on sleep. I spent the remaining twilight hours huddled on the couch, mindlessly binging a television show about a couple restoring crumbling, on-the-brink-of-falling-down castles in the remote foothills of the United Kingdom. I finally fell asleep around dawn, dreaming of a deep brogue, handsome Scottish man, with muscles galore. Only to be violently yanked back to reality by a human wrecking ball at the door.
“Ugh.” I furiously let out a huff, fling the covers off me, and my feet hit the cold floor. I run both hands through my wild, tangled, sleep-riddled hair, trying to push the wayward strands out of my face. I look down at what I’m wearing: one of Vik’s old, oversized gray T-shirts, a piece of clothing I’m unwilling to part with, plus it’s comfortable and hangs loosely down to my thighs.
“I’m calling the cops!” I bellow toward the foyer, my voice raspy, dry, and thoroughly grumpy. “I swear to all that’s holy, if you don’t stop beating on my door, I’m letting the boys in blue handle you.” Miraculously, the knocking stops as I stumble my way closer. The sudden silence is deafening and music to my ears. I blink heavily, my brain still not firing on all cylinders as I navigate through my place with only the dim morning light filtering through my blinds. I reach the counter, my hand instinctively searching for my phone that’s on charge to follow through on my threat.
My fingers brush the glass, lighting the screen up, and my frustration instantly morphs into dread. The lock screen is a wall of notifications: six missed calls and a string of text messages all from a single sender: Alex.
My thumb hovers over the screen, still sleep-deprived and groggy enough my vision blurs, and it takes my clumsy fingers more than a few tries to punch in my passcode.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The explosive pounding starts up again, this time with a vengeance, so loud, so hard it causes me to jump, nearly dropping my phone to the floor
“Romy! Open the door!” a voice roars from the hallway. A deep, grave, and unmistakable voice. My heart leaps to my throat, completely obliterating any remnants of sleep. Vik. My brain scrambles, trapped in a crossfire of adrenaline and confusion. My thumbs frantically tap on the screen, finally inputting the pin number to unlock my Alex’s message thread at the exact same time my feet carry me on autopilot to my front door. I throw the heavy deadbolt back, slide the security chain off, twist the handle, and pull open the door just as my eyes finally lock on the very last test Alex fired off ten minutes ago.
Alex: Grumpy Billionaire on the loose and heading your way. I tried to stop him. Godspeed and good luck.
I lower the phone slowly, jaw dropping as I come face-to-face with the man himself. Vik stands in my doorway, and he looks like an absolute madman. His expensive tailored suit jacket is gone, his white dress shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, and the tie he usually wears with military precision is completely missing. His dark hair is wild, similar to mine, I’m sure, and his eyes—shadowed, fierce, and bloodshot. Eyes that are locked on mine with a possessive intensity that makes my breath hitch. Before I can utter a single syllable, Vik barges past me. He doesn’t ask for permission. He simply uses his massive frame to crowd me into my small entryway. May as well close the door so my neighbors don’t hear what I have to say or, better yet, what he might have to say.
“Vik, what the hell are you doing here?” I gasp, taking a step back with each one he takes my way until my body hits the hallway wall. He doesn’t answer. He brings both of his hands to his dark hair and lets out a harsh, ragged breath similar to a growl. Then he looks at me, his gaze sweeping over what I’m wearing, the shirt hanging off my shoulder, and he does the last thing I thought he’d do: he turns on his heel, giving me his back, and paces.
“You’re not allowed to move,” he orders, voice booming in the quiet of my apartment. He takes three long strides across the living room before spinning around to face me. “Do you hear me, Romy? I won’t have it. I’m not letting you do this.”