Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“That is no problem, Mr. Morgan. We hope to see you and Mr. Calloway another time.”
Sure, they did. The second I left, I would become the hot topic of discussion for the rest of the night. The poor slob stood up by his handsome, wealthy boyfriend, miles above his league. Some days, it felt like everyone in Boston knew Ryder, and even more so among the elite circles. He’d eaten here countless times with his family and business contacts while I was the outsider. I imagined bets were placed on whether my sorry ass would grace their overpriced establishment again.
After paying a ridiculous amount for one glass of wine I didn’t enjoy, I exited the restaurant with my head held high and heart dragging on the floor behind me. There were two explanations for what happened tonight, and both sucked. Either Ryder forgot me and our plans, or he remembered and decided standing me up would be fine. Part of me wanted to go home to my house instead of Ryder’s penthouse, so I wouldn’t have to confront him when he finally dragged himself away from work. As soon as the thought entered my mind, guilt hit hard.
I was the one who hadn’t cared about celebrating the end of the trimester. I was the one who didn’t give two craps which restaurant we ate at. So why was I feeling so damn butthurt over the demise of our plans?
Because you miss your boyfriend, idiot.
My aunt was in town, visiting my mom, her sister. She’d come for six days and was sleeping in my bed, which meant I needed to go to Ryder’s or sleep on the couch. Luxurious king-size bed versus a lumpy fifteen-year-old couch.
Easy choice.
Plus, I really did want to sleep beside Ryder tonight, even though I was upset and he had arrived home well after midnight, which had happened most of my nights off work recently.
With a heavy sigh, I began the ten-city block trek toward Ryder’s luxury apartment complex. The July night was warm, too warm to be walking so far in a wool suit, but I’d assumed I’d be riding home with Ryder, so I hadn’t bothered to bring my car. My aunt dropped me off as she and Mom were on the way to see a movie.
My mom loved being social. She attended a daytime program that kept her occupied and had plenty of doctor’s appointments, but outings could be difficult. Her group of friends kept her occupied with activities at their homes, but she longed to get out on the town more often. Being in a wheelchair made it difficult, and she sometimes shied away from busy public spaces. I’d offered to take her to dinner or a movie plenty of times, but she always had the same answer. I did enough for her. I shouldn’t have to spend my minuscule free time entertaining her. No matter how hard I insisted, she turned me down the majority of the time.
Well, her sister wasn’t as accommodating as I was and practically dragged my mom out of the house multiple times this week. It was good for her. She’d smiled a lot since my aunt came to visit. We might need to make some changes soon. Find some ways for my mom to have a social life and enjoy herself more. Of course, those excursions required time and money, two things I was chronically low on—another thing to add to my ever-growing list of problems waiting to be solved by me.
Top of the list is what to do about my AWOL boyfriend.
By the time I made it to the apartment building, I’d soaked through my shirt and had an uncomfortable swamp ass situation going on. My hair, which I’d spent more time styling than usual, stuck to my sweaty forehead like limp seaweed washed ashore after a violent storm.
I looked as crappy as I felt if the doorman’s widening eyes were any indication. “Good evening, Mr. Morgan,” he said with a wary smile. “Welcome back.”
“John, what have I told you about calling me Mr. Morgan. It’s Alex. Please call me Alex.” Mr. Morgan was my father, and I hated that family-abandoning prick.
The older gentleman’s smile turned playful. “Sorry, sir, it’s policy. You don’t want me to get in trouble, now do you?” He winked.
I rolled my eyes. “Ugh, sir is even worse. I’m in my twenties.”
Chuckling, John opened the door for me. “Enjoy your evening, sir. Say hello to that man of yours for me.”
And there went my mood, plummeting back down the dark tunnel of frustration and loneliness. “You’ll probably see him before I do,” I said with a small smile that hopefully didn’t look as pitiful as I felt. “Have a good night, John.”
“Same to you, Mr. Morgan.”
I left, shaking my head at the man’s rigid adherence to a perceived doorman’s code of ethics. The penthouse elevator—that’s right, an entire elevator for only three penthouses on the top three levels—was waiting for me when I arrived, as it always seemed to be. Not once had I needed to wait for it to make its way down to me. As a frequent guest of Ryder’s, I’d had my fingerprint scanned when he first moved in and could use it to access the penthouse elevator and other facility amenities as I pleased. My wallet rejoiced when I canceled my gym membership in favor of working out with Ryder in this building’s state-of-the-art fitness center.