Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
I hadn’t been sloppy. I’d been thorough. But there was no point demanding more from Oz since he was just the messenger.
“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” I grumbled, looking back down at the paperwork on my desk.
“Yeah”—Oz chuckled—“you do.”
I lifted my eyes back to him as he turned and walked out of the door.
What had I been sloppy with? Did Bane know I’d been tracking Noa? Taking care of things for her? Making sure she had everything she needed?
She’d fucking cried last night before she fell asleep. I’d had to watch it and suffer through it, not being able to do shit about it. There were times I hated the fucking cameras I’d snuck back into her apartment to install while she was in New Hampshire. But then seeing her every day was the only thing keeping me sane.
I hadn’t been to her apartment since she had returned from Chicago. I’d been there to make sure she arrived home safely. Watched her sleep, then left. Was that what Linc knew? And if so, why was he just now saying something? It had almost been a week since then.
So, what was it he had sent Bane in here to warn me about? I’d not gone back to see her, although she was ripping my chest open with her tears every night. He had nothing to bitch about. If he knew about the private plane I had hired for her travel or the one I’d used to go to put the cameras in her apartment or for the night she returned home, I would have heard something about it by now.
Fuck that, if he’d known, he’d have been waiting on me at the airstrip. I’d left no traces of my trip. He couldn’t know I’d been there.
Unable to focus on the orders in front of me, I jerked open my desk drawer and pulled out the phone they didn’t know I had. Clicking it open, I went to the cameras in Noa’s apartment and checked each one until I found her in front of her desk, chewing on the end of a straw while glaring at her computer screen.
She’d done more of that than actual writing since returning from Chicago. She also muttered a lot. The words I could hear often had my name in them. My silence was hurting her, and I fucking hated it. Every time I watched her and knew the sad look in her eyes was because of me, I wanted to destroy everything in my path. It was a miracle I hadn’t broken a fucking tooth with all the grinding I’d been doing, trying to keep it together and not completely snap.
Watching her get on the private jet I’d gotten for her trip to Chicago and not being able to follow her onboard had been brutal. I was limited to making sure she had all she could want or need for her flight. The cocksucker I’d chosen from the FBO employees almost lost a few fingers, possibly his goddamn tongue, for his treatment of her. But when I called him to correct his rude behavior, he was excellent, so I hadn’t sliced off one of his digits with my blade.
She took the straw from her teeth and tossed it across the room, then let out an exasperated growl before standing up. Planting her hands on her hips, she let her head fall back. “UGH! This is all your fault, Ransom Carver! You heartless son of a bitch.”
My lips quirked. “Call me names if it helps, Shakespeare. But you’ll forgive me. I swear it.”
Nine
Noa
Twenty Days Since Ransom Left …
I hadn’t left my apartment in thirteen days. Almost two weeks. It was just sad. If I had more than twenty thousand words written on my manuscript, I wouldn’t feel like such a loser about it. My not leaving would have had a purpose. But seeing as I had barely written any words, cried more than I wanted to admit, and avoided most of Jellie’s calls, it was, in fact, depressing. As if I needed more cause to be depressed. Ransom had sunk me to the lowest of my lows in that area of my life.
Christmas in New York was always a magical time that I savored every moment of. My tree would go up the weekend after Thanksgiving, and I’d begin wrapping gifts, making apple cider, and playing holiday music over the sound system. This year, I’d done nothing. I avoided even looking out my window at the cheerful lights and festive decorations lining the streets.
It was eleven days until Christmas, and the suitcase I’d bought in Portsmouth was still packed with the gifts I’d bought, sitting in the corner of my bedroom. I’d yet to even open it. Tomorrow was the first day of Hannukah, and most of the employees at the publishing house would be on their holiday vacation to bring in the season. I should have taken the gifts I’d bought for my editor, marketing director, and former boss. I didn’t have it in me to even pretend to be happy.