Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 105756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“Nobody found you for an entire day? So, the driver just left you there?”
Pain sliced down my middle. “I’d rather not get into that. It was awful, but it was a long time ago.”
“No, I understand.” Jonathan’s throat bobbed as he studied me. “I’ll, um, I’ll let you get some rest, then.”
He turned to leave, and for some reason, I found myself reaching out and grabbing his arm. “Thank you for letting me stay here. It’s … you’ve done a good thing.”
Jonathan held my gaze for a prolonged moment before he nodded. “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen the state of my apartment, and you’re going to be the one cleaning it.”
I could tell by his tone he was joking. I’d bet his apartment was just as pristine as the one we were standing in. Men like Jonathan Oaks didn’t live in squalor.
“Right,” I gave a small laugh. “Goodnight, Jonathan.”
“’Night, Ada,” he replied, and once again, the way he said my name caused a little flutter in my belly.
It took a few days to get used to my new surroundings. I developed a bit of a love/hate relationship with Jonathan’s apartment. I enjoyed the space and the comfort of living there, not to mention the pretty view from the balcony where I liked to sit in the evenings and enjoy a book and a cup of hot chocolate. What I didn’t like was how quiet it was. Being all alone had always been uncomfortable for me. Because of the accident, one of my biggest fears was having some medical emergency and not being found for days. That was why I liked living with others. I was a dichotomy because I liked being left to do my own thing, but I didn’t want to be completely on my own.
I wanted to know that someone was downstairs or in the next room. Someone who would come to my aid if I was hurt. Now, I solely occupied a giant apartment, and if anything happened to me, it could be days before anyone noticed. Well, people at work might wonder at my absence, but Jonathan certainly wasn’t going to think to check on me.
The building was too well sound-proofed for me to ever hear him coming or going. I hadn’t seen him in over a week. Not that I was complaining. The less time I spent with Leonora’s son, the better. I felt too exposed around him. He knew far more about me than I typically showed people, even my own sister.
The problem was, I hadn’t found the courage to explain to Frances that I’d lied to her and was now living in Jonathan’s penthouse. I didn’t want to see her sad eyes when she found out I’d slept in my car. And that meant I had to get accustomed to my new living situation without anyone to confide in. I was also going through some weird emotional stuff, finding myself brought to tears by the simplest things.
Like the other day, they ran out of coconut milk at my favourite coffee place, and I’d been looking forward to a coconut latte all week. When the barista informed me of the shortage, I found myself on the verge of bawling my eyes out.
I was obviously missing Dad and Leonora, and it was getting to be too much.
The smallest inconvenience could trigger a meltdown.
I wanted them back so much it physically hurt. I needed them there to check in on me, ask me how my day had been and what I thought we should make for dinner. And my dad’s hugs. He used to give the best hugs. It was the little things that I felt the absence of most keenly.
It all came to a head on Saturday night, close to the end of my second week living next door to Jonathan. My dire loneliness and anxiety had me leaving my apartment, walking across the hall and knocking on his door. He hadn’t come to tell me which days he wanted me to clean his place yet, so I came under the guise of agreeing on a schedule. However, I had an additional request, and I wasn’t sure how he was going to react.
I knocked three times then waited, not hearing any movement until some shoes clipped towards the door. It wasn’t until the very last moment I realised they sounded like women’s shoes. High heels, to be precise. At that point, it was too late to flee because the door was opening, and a very attractive woman appeared. She had long, silky chestnut hair and hazel eyes and wore a form-fitting red dress that matched her lipstick. I was currently decked out in a long fluffy cardigan, black leggings and a yellow T-shirt from last year’s fundraiser bake sale at work that read Buns of Fun. Jackie and Philomena had come up with the name and had a good giggle about it.