Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“Won’t any food, left out, eventually mold?” one of the guys asked.
“Not if it’s infused with enough salt, as it’s a preservation agent,” Benji said. “But more importantly, never in one day or two. That couldn’t happen.”
I was thinking it could happen, just as it had in this instance. There were far too many mitigating factors that might have occurred.
“He’s not saying the negative entity—energy—will remain,” Owen clarified for everyone. “He’s just saying that at the moment, you have something in there.”
Three men turned to Raglan, who, it appeared, was the ringleader of this particular circus. Even with it being Patrick’s mother’s space to give, or not, that didn’t matter. Raglan was the one in charge of the venture. “So you’re saying,” he began, questioning Benji, “that once whatever it is, is out, Patrick’s mother could then turn over the property to him?”
“Unless you have a haunting, as opposed to a ghost or poltergeist,” Benji clarified. “I’ll have to do some research on the building and get back to you.”
“But only if you want,” Owen told Benji, then to Raglan, “You and your buddies can just go buy something else if you don’t want to wait on us.”
Raglan had to decide.
I just wanted to eat, leave, and go to Miles’s place and have sex. But from how interested he was in the conversation, I could feel our alone time slipping away.
It was funny, but I wasn’t all that upset at the prospect of going home by myself. There were shows I needed to catch up on, and the books were stacking up as well. I could maybe even get in a late-night run before the rain started.
Things had not always been like that. There had been a time, a year and a half ago now, when I thought I’d found the one. But it turned out I was a horrific judge of character and had not just been wrong, but horribly so. I’d fallen hard, and the man in question had kept me hidden, not telling a soul about me. I had no idea he was in the closet; I thought he was just busy. He was a corporate lawyer, after all. Of course he had to be on a call with Hong Kong when I wanted him to meet my friends, go to the movies, the ballet, or just have dinner at a new place I wanted to try. I finally understood precisely where I stood when I was introduced to his work colleagues as a friend and his wingman and nothing more. I never even noticed the closet door closing behind me. I’d had no idea I was his dirty little secret.
Everything made sense after that: His reticence to move in with me, his hatred of even the smallest PDA, his inability to be with me for the holidays, my birthday, or anything else. There would be other people there, my family, my friends, and he couldn’t meet them because then they would know him and greet him in public. He couldn’t have that.
It was easy to end us since, it turned out, our lives were in no way commingled. I had nothing at his place, and he had nothing at mine. Our relationship was basically a series of one-night stands where we went back to our own lives until it was time to hook up again. I was a booty call, plain and simple. I’d been floating around on a cloud of delusion, and he was going about his life, having his needs met, giving nothing, staking no claim, and when it was over, he left without a backward glance.
Love was stupid, and though I hadn’t sworn off it forever—I was a romantic at heart and a believer in the true and forever kind, for which I blamed my sisters with their romance novels and the rom-coms I was dragged to as a child—I was definitely not in the market for finding the one anytime soon. While I didn’t despair of there ever being someone out there for me, I had my parents as a glowing example of soulmates. Plus, the idea of growing old and living with one of my sisters—they all wanted me to help take care of their kids—really didn’t sound all that bad. Already, I found myself slowly slipping into my curmudgeon phase, even if I did go on the occasional date.
“Are you gonna get that?” Owen asked me, bringing me from my thoughts to the phone ringing in the breast pocket of my suit.
“Oh, look who it is,” I grumbled, pulling my cell and turning it so Owen could see that it was his intended—the wedding would be in June—my boss, Jared Colter.
“That’s a terrible picture,” Owen groused. “I have much better ones,” he suddenly grinned. “Of course, most of those are of him naked.”