Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
I smile to myself while padding along the hallway. Dominic Masters can kiss, that’s for sure, because I found myself melting against his broad form like a teenager who’s never been in a man’s arms before. His cologne made me feel faint and heady at once, and when I opened my mouth, he swept his tongue inside, growling with approval.
Hold your horses, the voice in my head scolds. It was just a kiss. It’s not like the billionaire proposed or something. Besides, Mr. Masters probably just had too much to drink and got caught up in the excitement of the party. It’s nothing to lose your head over.
Of course the voice is right and yet I can’t help but smile to myself again. I almost leaped out of bed at six a.m. this morning, and took care to wear something a tiny bit nicer than my usual boxy grey uniform, although I don’t think I’ll be seeing Dominic today. Still, I feel pretty and wanted, and decided to take extra pains.
As a result, I’m dressed a black skirt that comes down to the knee, paired with a filmy white blouse which is still totally appropriate. My golden hair is in its usual bun, and black hose covers my thighs ending in a pair of grey trainers. A rueful smile crosses my mouth because the sneakers are the only weird part of my outfit today. Unfortunately, I only brought two pairs: the black ballerinas and these grey shoes, and now that I’ve lost one of my ballerinas, the sneakers are my only option.
But still, I need to find the missing slipper because it’s important to be frugal at this juncture of my life. My deceased husband’s life insurance paid out, but the funds are dwindling and I need to save every penny from this job. As a result, I look around furtively before letting myself into the formal dining room where Mr. Masters kissed me last night. It’s silent and still, with a heavy oak table paired with matching chairs. The wallpaper is a deep crimson striped with gold, and a beautiful bouquet stands on the otherwise unadorned table.
But where could my shoe be? I survey the carpeted floor, but it’s nowhere to be found. Then, I get down on my knees and peer beneath the table. Could it have gotten kicked down here somehow? But even in the gloom, I can see that there’s nothing but table legs and chair legs. Hmm. Where could it be?
Suddenly, I realize what must have happened. Dominic must have picked up my lost shoe and taken it to his room. Oh god, no! How embarrassing! How would I even go about getting it back? Ugh, I can’t even picture the conversation we’d have in my head.
Pulse racing, I let myself out of the dining room and tiptoe down the long hallway to where the penthouse’s private quarters are located. I can’t believe this is happening, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Besides, Mr. Masters won’t be back until six, right? I have plenty of time to do some stealthy reconnaissance.
The door to the master suite is closed and the hallway empty. Perfect. Looking around surreptitiously, I push the door open before letting myself in, as silent as a mouse. Oh wow, this suite is the epitome of luxury because I’m standing in a small drawing room that leads into a massive bedroom. Through the doorway, I can see a king-size bed done up with silvery grey linens, and another door leading to what must be the en suite. But the focal point of the suite is the eastern-facing wall because it’s completely occupied by floor to ceiling windows. I can see why because there’s an astonishing view of Central Park just on the other side.
Unable to help myself, I walk through the bedroom and let myself out through the sliding glass door and onto the terrace. It’s gorgeous, with colorful blooms, potted plants, and elegant, yet hardy, outdoor furniture. But the pièce de resistance is Central Park itself. We’re high up above the tree tops, and the view is absolutely breathtaking as I take in the Great Lawn, Sheep’s Meadow, Belvedere Castle, as well as numerous runners, walkers, bicyclists, and horse-drawn carriages. I can almost hear the laughter and conversation of park-goers, and smile to myself. What must it be like to be carefree and relaxed on a gorgeous day like this, while strolling through the best and biggest park in New York City? What would it be like to let my worries float away, without the shadow of my past hanging over me? I’d feel like a different person, certainly, but the fact is that nothing can change the fact that I’m me: Angela White. I’m a totally normal woman, except for the fact that my deceased husband abused me while he was alive.