Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
The car pulls into the grand entrance of the Château de Makua. “Wow,” I whisper as I peer out the window. I’ve flown almost eight hours, and then my driver picked me up, and it took us another three hours to drive here. I’m dead tired after my early start but suddenly filled with nerves.
The driver takes my suitcase from the trunk, and I tip him and stare up at the big building in front of me.
MIND MASTERS
Even the name of this conference is ridiculous. I wheel my suitcase in and wait in the line at reception.
The building is lovely, old fashioned, and otherworldly. It’s luxurious and opulent and feels like I have stepped back in time. The foyer is grand, and a huge circular staircase is the center feature.
“Next?” the concierge asks as everyone shuffles forward. I look around at the people in front of me in the line. I wonder if they are attending the conference.
There are two girls who look like Barbie dolls. Huge silicone lips—and how do they think those ridiculous huge eyelashes look good? Don’t their eyes hurt with something that heavy on their lids like that?
One has waist-length bleached-blonde hair with extensions that you can see at the roots. Ugh . . . so tacky. The other one has a dark, curly, thick mane. They’re both wearing next to nothing and are done up to the nines. I tighten my ponytail and pull down my linen shirt, feeling extraordinarily uncool. Damn it, I should have worn something a bit swankier.
The blonde notices me standing behind her. “Oh, hi. Are you attending Mind Masters?”
“Yes.” I give an awkward smile. “Are you?”
“Yes,” she shrieks. “Oh my God, I’m so excited. I’m Ellie. What do you do?”
“Um.” I shrug, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “I’m Claire. I work for a company.”
“I’m running my own empire,” Ellie says as she widens her eyes in excitement.
“Empire,” I repeat, amused. “In what?” I ask.
“I’m an influencer.”
I stare at her as my brain tries to keep up. Oh God no . . . one of those twits who gets paid for posting fake crap. “Really? Great.”
“I travel the world and model bikinis.” She smiles. “If I post an image of myself, the world goes into meltdown.”
I bite my bottom lip to hide my smile. Is she for real? “I . . . bet they do.”
The dark-haired girl in front of her turns toward us and laughs. “Snap, girlfriend.”
“Oh my God . . . you too?” Ellie gasps.
They both burst into laughter. “I’m Angel,” the dark-haired girl introduces herself. “I’m going to be an influencer too.”
“You haven’t started yet?” Ellie asks in a condescending tone.
“Well.” Angel shrugs. “Not technically. I still have a few movies left on my contract, but as soon as I finish those, I’m totally into it—all systems go.”
“Movies?” Ellie gasps. “What kind of movies?”
“I’m a porn actress. You may have seen my latest, Anal Mistress with Johnny Rocket Cock.”
Ellie’s eyes widen, “Oh. My. God.” She gasps. “I totally recognize you.” They begin to laugh and bounce on the spot in excitement.
Oh hell.
I wonder what Johnny Rocket Cock does to her ass.
Or what anyone does to anyone’s ass, actually. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched that I’ve completely forgotten everything, and even when I was, it was never hard-and-fast porn-style sex. It was loving and tender. The kind of sex that married people have.
Safe and real, a world away from being an anal mistress.
What the actual fuck has Marley gotten me into here?
I turn toward the man behind me. Has he heard any of this?
“Hi.” He smiles.
“Hello.”
He’s blond and normal looking. He seems nice. “Are you here for the conference?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Me too.” He holds out his hand to shake mine. “I’m Nelson Barrett.”
“I’m Claire Anderson.” I smile.
“I’m a computer scientist.” He looks around at our surroundings. “I’m so out of my comfort zone here it’s not even funny.”
“Me too.” Relief fills me. Someone normal. “I work in media.”
“Lovely to meet you, Claire.”
“You too.”
We both turn to the front and watch the antics of the girls. They are loud and animated and so excited to be here. I smile as I watch them; their enthusiasm is childlike and lovely to watch.
I make an idle observation that enthusiasm like that seems to dissipate around the age of twenty-eight. I predict they have five good years left before life begins to really fuck them up the ass. Relationship breakdowns and debt—that’s if they can find a decent person to fall in love with.
I shake my head in disgust.
Look at me being a downer . . . maybe I really do need to be here.
I’ve never been a negative person before. I hate this part of my personality that has surfaced in recent times.
I don’t even know myself anymore.
The line moves forward, and people begin to pile into the foyer behind us. Men and women, all excited entrepreneurs. Apart from Nelson, I think I’m the oldest here.