Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 57028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Every time I check the phone, Meatball looks at me accusatorially.
“I know I said I wanted him to leave me alone, but it’s been hours…and not even a single text? How am I supposed to seduce him – to trick him – if he ghosts me?”
Meatball yawns. He’s not buying the ‘trick him’ angle at all. The way I see it, that’s my best shot to get upstairs and find a phone, call the cops, tell them some devastatingly handsome billionaire is keeping me prisoner and making me confront feelings I shouldn’t be having.
“Let’s say I gave into these feelings, then what? Do you seriously think I could have a future with a man who started as my kidnapper? It’s doomed… but that doesn’t mean we have to accept this situation.”
When I speak with Meatball, I sometimes entertain the more unlikely aspects of my life: a dream jewelry business, becoming rich… and now, an impossible relationship. It doesn’t mean I actually think anything could happen.
I almost drop the phone when three dots appear on the screen. He’s typing a message. I hold my breath… and then let it out when no message appears and the three dots disappear.
That means he typed something, then deleted it.
It’s almost midnight. Maybe he can’t sleep. Or maybe he’s already slept, but he woke after dreaming about me. Traitor tingles attack my body when I imagine him obsessing over me.
Losing my cool, I shoot off a text.
Evie: If you’ve got something to say, say it.
Dom: Excuse me, Evie?
Evie: You keep typing and then deleting a message. I can see the dots on my phone. YOUR phone.
Dom: That would imply you’re staring at the text thread, waiting for me to message you.
“He thinks I’m staring at the phone because I want him. He’s so deluded. It’s because I need to do something. I need a plan. A way out.”
Meatball looks like he’s tiring of my delusional justifications.
When I don’t reply, he sends another message.
Dom: I checked on your apartment. I saw your workbench. You’ve got serious talent, Evie. Those pieces were exceptional.
I love the compliment, but I can’t let him mess with my head.
Evie: Was this before or after you went digging into my past? Into my mom?
Dom: I’m sorry about your mother. Truly. She was far too young, and a car crash was no way to go.
Two police officers’ arrival at my door with the news devastated me. They think an animal ran into the road. The weather conditions made it so that when she slammed on the brakes, she skidded and crashed into a tree. Mom would never run over an animal, even if it meant sacrificing her own life.
“I don’t care about his condolences,” I tell a perpetually unconvinced Meatball. “Or his compliments. But if I’m going to get out of here, I need to play with him. I need to make him believe.”
When Meatball jumps off the bed and leaves the room, it’s the closest to ‘F you’ my kitty can get.
It doesn’t change the fact that this is a serviceable plan. Considering the position I’m in, serviceable is the most I can reasonably expect.
Evie: Thank you. I couldn’t believe it when the cops told me. She was the kindest woman I’ve ever known. They think an animal darted out in front of her and she slammed on her brakes… They said she should’ve run it over, but she was incapable of doing that. She wouldn’t have been able to live with herself.
Dom: Sometimes, the ugly things are the most necessary.
Evie: It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you’re hinting at, Dom.
Dom: We’re going in circles, Evie.
He’s right, but it’s annoying he thinks he has any right to get bored with this conversation. That’s one tick in the douchebag column. I’m going to need way more of those if I want to have a chance against the ‘obsessed’ and ‘unreasonably interested’ column.
Evie: Seriously though, thank you for your kind words about Mom.
Dom: How long were she and Mason together?
Evie: I thought your contact would have told you that.
Dom: I can hear your sassiness even through a text. How does that work?
I smile, then quickly wipe it away.
“I shouldn’t care that he likes my so-called sassiness,” I say, then remember I’m speaking to an empty room. Somehow, talking to myself makes me feel crazier than talking to my cat.
It’s true. I shouldn’t like it. But the protective shield I put up against the world is the traits I’m proudest of. I’m a fighter, even when my only way to ‘fight’ is to run.
When I don’t answer, Dom goes on.
Dom: My contact found photos of them and some posts on social media, but no indication about how long they were together.
Evie: Long enough for me to hate Mason. Long enough for him to leave bruises on her beautiful skin. Long enough for me to fear him. Is that good enough for you?