Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Maybe he’s well enough to realize how utterly over-the-top and unhinged he was. Maybe reason and logic have returned. I guess I’m about to find out. The elevator stops on the top floor and my thumbprint still unlocks the apartment door.
I knock anyway. And wait, holding the legal-sized envelope I plan to hand him.
I give it about two minutes before I open the door and peek in.
I don’t see anyone, but it’s clear someone’s here. There’s a pair of black high heels in front of me, one standing up, the other on its side. There’s a pink scarf on the console table. Some keys. A Louis Vuitton clutch. Straight ahead, I see a Christmas tree by the wall of windows. Christmas is next week. It’s about half-decorated. There are open ornament boxes on the floor. It smells like pine and like sugar cookies.
I startle in surprise and back away when I hear, “Who’s there?” from a female voice.
Stunned, I back out and rush to the elevator, which is mercifully still on this floor, stab the button about twenty times, willing the door to hurry up and close before whoever she is comes down the hall. Or… before he does.
Thankfully, the door shuts before I have to face anyone and I exhale hard, heart pounding hard as the elevator descends to the main floor.
I book it out of there, pulling out and seeing – I think – Ash pulling in.
I drop the envelope on the kitchen counter and down a half a bottle of cold water from the fridge. I stare into space after this for a good two minutes before I spontaneously burst into tears.
Stepping into the coffee shop, I immediately catch her scent. Daisy by Marc Jacobs. She wore it the night we met. I smelled it in the bedroom in that rowhouse when I visited her there that night while Hallman was gone. She’s got her back to me. She’s reading a book. She has soup in front of her. A bag that probably contains a chocolate éclair. Her briefcase is on the floor. She’s in a business suit.
I wave at Mr. Nguyen and move to her table in the corner. She looks up from her book and startles.
“Chloe,” I greet.
Her eyes bounce from the page to my face.
“You were looking for me yesterday?” I ask.
My face is hot; I’m sure it’s red.
He looks good. Really good. He’s wearing a winter coat. Gloves. His hair is a little longer, in his eyes a little. He’s clean shaven. In jeans and boots.
But the eyes are different.
Maybe because he’s not looking at me the way he usually does.
“I… yes. I… have something for you. I have it with me.” I fumble through my leather bag on the floor and find what I’m looking for, though I’m not sure here out in public is the place I want to be doing this.
His expression goes hard. Or I should say harder.
He takes a step back before I even have it out of the bag fully. He glares at it with an expression so insidious I’m surprised it doesn’t burst into flames in my hand.
He turns around and walks out without looking back.
I look at the envelope in my hand and realize what he thinks it is. And of course he doesn’t want it if he thinks it’s divorce papers. Steeles aren’t allowed to divorce. No, he’s not allowed to divorce me but there are no rules against him having a woman in his condo with her stilettos off, are there?
Sour-faced, I stuff the envelope back into my bag, put the lid on my soup, sop up a few droplets of mess with my napkin, gather my things, and put my coat on.
I jolt awake in the pitch dark. I touch my phone screen on my bedside table. It’s three o’clock in the morning.
A shadow moves in front of me, and I gasp and lunge for my phone.
I touch 9, 1, and am about to hit 1 again when light floods the space and temporarily blinds me.
It’s Derek.
My heart trips over itself.
“You scared me,” I breathe.
His mouth is tight. His eyes are cold. And not pointed at my face. He’s looking past me.
“I saw you come out of the bakery down the street from Downtown. Who did you have lunch with that day?”
I frown. “The other day? Carlos. He works for me. I lease an office space in your father’s office building above Downtown.”
Carson organized that for me.
Derek’s expression doesn’t change.
I ask, “Who was in your apartment with you yesterday? Someone you’re putting a Christmas tree up with?” My voice wobbles, betraying my emotions about this fact, damn it.
His eyes narrow, but still point at the wall. “I’m not staying in the apartment. That was Paulina. The chef. She’s renting it while her house is being renovated.”