Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
When was the last time I had my . . .
But I’ve been busy. Stressed! Moving to the other side of the planet can do that to a girl. My argument is silent, my denials adamant. But it’s all there, even if my brain is trying to convince me otherwise.
No, that can’t be right, because then it would mean—
“You okay?” Concern etches itself in the cashier’s face.
I realize I’m clutching the counter and breathing heavily. “Am I . . .” I give myself an internal shake to scatter those frightening thoughts. “Let me get back to you on that,” I say, my words sounding so very far away as I lift my hand and point to the shelves of medication behind him. “Could I get one of those too?”
I swallow and tell myself it’s just a precaution. There’s no way I can be . . .
“A pregnancy test? No worries. So do you want the generic or the branded?”
Chapter 16
Matt
I’m outside the building when she arrives the next morning. I recognize her gait before she’s close enough for me to see her face, her hips swaying as they do in my dreams. Despite the distinct lack of light at 7:30 in the morning, I see she’s wearing dark glasses.
Did it upset her that much to see me yesterday? I hoped she was ill when she ran for the bathroom, rather than the sight of me making her sick.
According to Fin . . .
Well, what does he know.
But there’s no escaping she was shocked to the core, and I hate that things unfolded as they did. I know she will, too, because her professional life, her success, is something very important to her. That’s why I’m here so early this morning.
That, and her colleague suggested it might be a better time.
My stomach cramps as she draws nearer. Trepidation. Anticipation. The desire to sweep her up in my arms and just fucking . . . kiss her. I huff out a chuckle. There’s an invitation to a swift kick in the balls if I ever heard one.
Ryan passes by without a second glance, and she doesn’t turn back at the click of the car door as I climb from the Audi with a frown. For a woman who used to live in New York, she seems sorely lacking security smarts. A lone car, a virtually deserted street, her vision obscured by dark glasses.
Before I know I’m doing it, I call out her name.
She halts. Turns. Gives a faint but humorless smile. Her outfit is all business, her heels killer. And though her hair is slicked back from her face and secured in a ballerina bun at the nape, it’s not the hairstyle that makes her expression seem pinched.
“The early bird,” she says, like she was expecting to see me all along.
“More like the worm. At least, in your friend’s estimation.”
“Martine?”
She seems to like that, not that the admission wins me any brownie points as her expression hardens. I want to ask why the glasses, but maybe I’m afraid to know.
“I’m sorry if I startled you. Same goes for yesterday.”
“Yesterday was . . . I couldn’t . . .” She exhales a frustrated breath.
I nod like I understand, words and excuses and reasons all straining at my tongue. “It was a shock,” I eventually manage. “I get it. It was a lot to take in, but I’d really—I’d really like to talk to you.” My words sound rushed, strangled, and uncomfortable all at once.
“Would you?” Get fucked: That’s the tune of her answer. The underlying score.
“Yeah, I would. And maybe you think I don’t deserve it, but I’ll be turning up day after day until you hear me out.”
“At my place of work?” she says, unimpressed. “That sounded like a threat.”
“I’m not in the building,” I say. “I won’t cause you any trouble there. But I am a persistent fucker, and you deserve—”
“You must have a lot of time on your hands.”
“I’ll make time,” I say without bite.
“So just a lot of parking tickets for you in the meantime.” Her eyes flick to the yellow markings in the road. “But I hear you can afford it.” Which is the point she was trying to make anyway as her gaze moves to the car. Low slung and sporty—I suppose it did set me back nearly two hundred grand.
“You’re right,” I eventually say, shoving my hands into the pockets of my dark jeans because all I want to do is step closer and hug her, even if she is all high heels and fuck off attitude. But it’s just a veneer. I think. But those dark glasses. What the hell is going on under there? “There are other things I want to say. Things I need to explain.”
The soles of her shoes scuff against the pavement, and I worry she’s about to turn away.