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)
How will I explain who I am?
I’m the girl who practically assaulted—verbally, of course—this . . . this . . . this jerk of a CEO, causing him to look back when I yelled “Hey” like a psychopath on the street to get his attention. I couldn’t bear the thought of him getting the last word in, so I was going to outdo him. That sounds awful, even to me, and I know the reasoning behind it. I’m a horrible person. They might as well call the cops on me now. Holding out my wrists, I’m mentally letting them lock me and throw away the key.
“Ma’am.”
I look at the EMT on the other side of Warner . . . Do I really have a right to call him by his first name? I’m acting like we actually know each other. We don’t. He’s the asshole who’s—“Miss?”
I bring my gaze from Mr. Landers (that’s better) to the EMT again. “Yes?”
“His birthday?”
The gasp of shock strikes my vocal cords and dries my throat. I glance at Warner again, feeling worse than I did before, and that was already pretty awful. “It’s his birthday?”
“I’m asking the date of his birth. When is it?”
“Oh.” I sit straight again, my mind fumbling through the question like I might stumble upon the answer. “I’m not sure,” I reply quieter. How is it possible for me to feel embarrassed that I don’t know this stranger’s birthday? I have no idea, but I do. “Maybe he has his wallet with him. We can check.” I feel his pant pocket on the side closest to me, hitting something hard . . . “I think it’s here.”
The EMT stares at me with a brow so furrowed it might be a pinched nerve. “Do you know this man?”
“Do I know this man?” I laugh nervously. “Do I know this man?”
“Do you?” he asks again, his gaze unrelenting in its severity.
I pause. This is my stop, a chance to hop off this lie before it’s too late. “Of course, I know him.” I signal with my hand to his lifeless body. “It’s Warner Landers of Landers Ventures.”
The medic blinks at me, then narrows his eyes. “Okay, but you don’t know his birthday?”
“We had a business relationship, so we hadn’t gotten to birthdays.” I glance down at his wedding ring finger. No ring. No tan lines. No marks left behind by someone who was sneaking around without one. “He’s not married.”
“No one is accusing you of anything. We’re trying to get as much information on him as we can for the file.”
He looks at his e-pad and starts jotting down some notes. It’s the way he peeks up at me like he’s now concerned for Warner’s safety, from me, that has me shifting in my seat, and looking toward the light, a.k.a. the two windows at the back, and ask, “Are we almost there?”
“Yes,” he replies. “What’s your name?”
I’m not falling into that trap. No way can I give my real name. If Warner finds out I was here, that deal is as good as signed. But my brain is blank of names except for some unknown reason “Delaney Landers” rolls off the tip of my tongue and onto the body of the man passed out between us. Or was he knocked unconscious? What am I doing? Holy hell, I need to get out of here.
“You have the same last name as Mr. Landers but don’t know his birthday?”
“Coincidence.”
“I should say so,” he mutters under his breath just as the ambulance comes to a hard stop. He’s out of his seat and helping to push the doors open. The chaos of the moment leaves me there to climb out last and follow them inside.
A nurse comes up beside me and says, “We’re taking him back to be examined. A doctor will come out to discuss if surgery is needed and the next steps.” She guides me into a glass box full of chairs, old TVs mounted on the walls, and a few others scattered about. “You can wait here for more information regarding your husband.”
“Okay—wait, what? He’s not my . . .” The nurse has already disappeared down the hall. I stand there, unsure of what to do. Leaving would be best. I have no business being here in the first place. But now he’s all alone with his friend waiting at a bar for him to arrive somewhere in the financial district.
I flop into a chair, knowing I can’t leave him like this. Warner Landers is a jerk, but he’s mine to deal with until his family or friend comes to claim him. I drop my head into my hands. The image of him getting hit plays over in my head, causing me to open my eyes and sit upright. Is this karma getting her dues?