Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
The potency of the interaction doesn’t lessen until he disappears down another hallway to the left side of the living space. I take a breath like I wasn’t allowed one in his presence. But it’s not him who made me hold it. It’s the house of cards built on lies. If I say one wrong thing, make one wrong move, he’ll know I’m being dishonest. Then what happens?
He could remove the buyout option for my parents altogether if I’m not careful. I wouldn’t be surprised, considering he thinks someone can actually pay that ungodly amount with only a month’s notice. The deal he’s offering is criminal.
My parents won’t be able to come up with the money. There’s no way. I’m going to stick to the plan because it’s our only and last resort. What’s the worst that could happen? He’ll have me arrested for impersonating someone who cares.
What’s the best that could happen? I’ll sweet-talk him out of the deal and save the restaurant.
First things first, I sneak down the hall to where he disappeared, passing two closed doors and then one more on the far left that’s cracked open. Opposite it, the door is wide open. The soft glow of a lamp welcomes me into the space, and the sound of the shower behind another door helps soothe my racing heart.
The bed is enormous—the biggest I’ve ever seen—with fluffy covers and large pillows, likely filled with pricey down or memory foam, which disrupts the sterile image I envisioned for his bedroom. Clean lines of the shades at half-mast carry the modern vibe into the room. But it’s the chair and ottoman situated in front of a fireplace that have me wishing to curl up with a good book and waste some hours.
There’s no time for daydreams. I open a door, hoping it’s the closet. Bingo! I start grabbing hangers full of pressed shirts, pants that hang full length under suit jackets, and shove them into one section of the closet. Grabbing folded shirts and shorts from two shelves, I stacked them into a small cubby that only housed two pairs of shoes. I put those on the floor and then stand back. I snap my fingers. Drawers.
After tugging the top drawer open, I scoop up his neatly tucked and folded underwear—shockingly all black, though I shouldn’t be so surprised—into my arms and then use the toe of my shoe to pull open the bottom drawer. Dropping all the underwear in there. A pair of black boxer briefs falls to the pristine beige carpet, so I grab and stuff it inside with the others before forcing the drawer to close as much as it can.
After one quick scan again, I dash out and close the door behind me. When I hear the bathroom door opening, I jump into the chair and grab the throw pillow to wrap my arms around it like I wasn’t just destroying this man’s closet.
My unexpected presence causes Warner’s forward motion to halt abruptly. “What are you doing in here?”
Looking at him shirtless, some bruising covers his right shoulder, and he has scratches on his chest as well as one on his temple. The bruising hasn’t set in, but the red patches will look nasty by tomorrow. I rub my sweating palms along the soft fabric arms of the chair. “Sitting.”
“I can see that.” His lips twist, giving me the slightest glimpse into seeing his foundation shaken. “Do you mind helping me with this?”
My eyes pivot to the trash bag wrapped around his arm and a tie he was attempting to use to hold it up. “Sure, but the shower will ruin the tie. Do you have a rubber band?”
“Not that I know of. Do we?” Why does he make it sound like he knows I’m lying? There is no reason this man would put up with shenanigans, so I really don’t think he’s playing along. What would he have to gain from doing so? Nothing but a good time, I suppose.
I get up and come around the back of the chair toward him. “I’m sure they’re hidden in the junk drawer somewhere.”
“What’s a junk drawer?”
I stop and shake my head. Everyone has a junk drawer. This guy doesn’t? He probably thinks he’s too good for one. “Never mind. I have one.” I dig around inside my purse and find a hair elastic. Holding it up, I say, “This will work.”
I toss the tie on the bed. His eyes follow it as it slides off the side to the floor. That’s how I discover a certain someone has a case of perfectionism. Noted. I’m starting to find joy in the little irritations I cause him.
“Why are you still wearing your purse like you’re a guest in your own apartment?”
Sliding the elastic into place, I pop it against the bag wrapped around his bicep. “There you go. All set.” Nothing like causing a distraction from questions I really have no answer to. When he winces, I grab for his chest, resting my hands gently on top. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I totally forgot.”