Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
“You can’t boss me around,” I huff, knowing I sound like an annoyed teenager, but I can’t help it. Kaden always gets me out of sorts. He ruffles my feathers like no other. I both love and hate it.
“Please let me drive you home.” He holds the passenger door open.
“Fine. But only because it’s late and you’ve inconvenienced me at this point.” I walk around keeping my chin up. It only makes his smile grow, so I elbow him in the stomach before dropping into my seat.
“Easy, Kitten,” he teases before closing the door for me once again. I take a deep breath and pull myself together as I put the seat belt on before he gets in. My nipples are still hard from the graze of his arm on them.
“Don’t call me Kitten,” I tell him when he pulls away from the curb.
“But we’re engaged. We should have pet names.” I’m not going to survive this. How the heck did I even get into this situation with him?
"Why don't you worry about that ring?"
“Oh, Kitten. I’ve got it covered.” He has the audacity to wink at me. I ignore the comment because deep down I kind of enjoy the pet name. I'll die before I admit that.
"Give me your phone." I hold my hand out. Without hesitation, he hands it over, the passcode effortlessly flowing from his lips. Interesting. I thought he’d be more protective of it.
"Not worried I'll go searching for nudes?" I type in my address for him.
"You'll have to do an internet search to find some." Little does he know it wouldn’t be the first time I googled him. I’ll never admit to that either.
"Right." I roll my eyes. I'm sure he's got a stack of them.
"Search away, Kitten."
"Is that a challenge?"
"It's whatever you want it to be." I click into the photos, and to my surprise, the first one is a picture of me. It's from my company's website. "I needed one for your contact."
I scroll through, but there aren’t any naked pictures. Oh wait, there is the calculator app thing people hide shit in. I search for it.
"What are you looking for?" he asks. "I'll help you find it if you want."
"The secret app where people hide dirty pictures." There has to be something hidden. There is no way his phone is this clean.
"And how do you know about this app?" Kaden snips. I think for the first time I hear a note of anger from him. Is he jealous?
"I've heard about it on Reddit. How girls bust men cheating and doing things they shouldn't be." Kaden's hold on the steering wheels loosens.
"No calculator app, but if you want to send me some dirty pictures, I'll make sure I hide them. I’ll use any app you tell me to. For my eyes only."
"Not sending you any pictures." I shake my head.
"We'll see about that, Kitten. You are, after all, my fiancée."
"Hopefully soon, I'll be a widow," I snark back.
"That means you'll have to marry me first."
He's right. I hate when he does that… At least that's what I tell myself.
Chapter Six
KADEN
“Frankie hates you,” Graham Dassault informs me as we walk into the jewelry store.
“She doesn’t hate me. She’s playing hard to get.” I look around at the dingy counter and the old pocket watches under a glass case that is so clouded I can barely make out the faces. Graham ignores all of that and knocks on a small wooden door. When I called him for emergency ring help, he said that there was only one man in the city who could help me.
The door opens, and a small man wearing a leather apron appears. He squints, and after recognition dawns, he gestures us though the entry.
“This is my friend Kaden—”
“Gunner. I know who he is. I don’t live in this shop,” the old man grumbles. “How’s the shoulder?”
I bite my sigh back and force out a jovial “Good as ever.”
“Bet my son-in-law you’d have a better year coming up,” he says and takes a seat behind a scarred wooden table. There are two metal chairs with leather seats and armrests. They look vaguely familiar.
“They’re Eames,” the jeweler says as Graham and I take our seats.
I nod as if I know what that means, but I don’t because I’m just a country boy from Kansas who has, as my last name suggests, a gun for an arm.
“Famous furniture designer from the '70s,” Graham informs me. “He’s into leather recliners, Mason. That’s why I brought him to you. He’s marrying an uptown girl with a law degree and lots of ambition.”
“You want something tasteful then.” The jeweler pulls out a velvet tray filled with rings with no rocks in them.
I make a sound, I guess of disappointment, because Mason holds up a finger. “Wait.”
He reaches into another drawer and fishes out a pair of white gloves. He then unfurls a black velvet roll to reveal a small collection of stones. With a long tweezer-shaped implement, he picks up one pear-shaped diamond and places it into a plain setting.