Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 36553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
I pull up Nessa’s contact, hit the call button, and bring the phone up to my ear. It rings a few times. I figure she’s still asleep after the event last night. She may not even answer.
“Hey, just the person I needed to call, except I fell asleep. Shit.” Her voice is husky. I chuckle at the unladylike language she uses. Other ladies in this three-ring circus would never.
“Hello, Nessa, I was unsure if you’d even answer the phone when I called. Did I wake you?” Her voice sounds as if she’s been asleep for more than the twelve hours since I dropped her off inside the building.
“Not really, no. I woke up this morning sick. I’m going to kick my best friend’s butt. Feel free to do the same thing when you’re also sick like I am now,” she mumbles into the phone. I can hear her teeth chatter as if she’s freezing. It may be New York, and while it’s still cold this time of year, she shouldn’t be freezing in her own apartment.
“I don’t get sick. I’m on my way to your place now.” I put my computer on sleep mode and stand up, my desk chair slamming into the bookcase behind me. I look down at the clothes I’m wearing; they’re decent enough. A pair of gray sweatpants, a black cotton tee. All I need to do is grab my keys, wallet, and put some shoes on my feet. Then a quick stop at the small grocery store that will have everything she’ll need to get back on her feet.
“No, Parker, you can’t. You’ll get sick, and then I’ll feel even worse. It’s bad enough I potentially spread my germs at the event last night, but maybe I’ve spared you. Stay home. I promise I’ll call you as soon as this fever goes away.” A yawn escapes her, letting me know I’ll be losing her if I don’t get a move on things.
“I won’t get sick. Send me the code to your place. I’m assuming you’ve got not a single thing to see you through this. There’s no way you’re going to be on your own through the worst of it.” I don’t leave room for her to argue, and truthfully, I doubt she’s got the energy for it.
“I’ll be fine. I’m going back to sleep now.”
“Nessa, either give me the code, or I’ll be banging on your apartment door after I bribe the attendant,” I tell her.
“Whatever, bossy pants. It’s eight-six-seven. Bye, Parker.” The distinct click in my ear has me seeing red.
“She hung up on me. What the fuck?” My hand runs through my hair, pulling at the ends, annoyed that the one woman who makes me feel anything at all has shut me down. Though not pushing things any further last night when Vanessa was more than willing didn’t help either. I’m jaded, through and through.
I walk through my brownstone, gathering what I need, knowing I’m going to be hoofing it to the parking garage where my car is stored on the rare occurrences I use it. One of these days, I’ll buy a home not in the city, have a garage, and not need to go into the office every day. That time isn’t now, but it will be soon. I’m not getting any younger, and my body tells me that after every session with Ezra. It doesn’t take me long until I’m at the front door, sliding my wallet in my front pocket, keys in hand, phone going back to my ear. I’m about to get a ration of shit for the call I’m about to place. It doesn’t take but one ring until she answers.
“Hello, Parker.” I know that tone. She’s fishing, which means someone has already called and given my mother the lowdown.
“Hey, Mom.” I walk the two blocks to where the parking garage is located, a few more steps until I’m at my Aston Martin. I’ll either need to wrap this conversation up quickly or talk to her the entire time I head to the grocery store.
“Have any important news to tell me about a certain friend?” Only Mom would allude to a woman without openly saying it.
“I take it Ezra has made his normal Sunday phone call. Good. I can spare you details since he’s hellbent on divulging my information. Vanessa Taylor is her name. She’s also sicker than a dog and refusing help. I know we were all going to have dinner tonight. Is there any way we can reschedule and for you to send me your chicken noodle soup recipe?” I ask, hitting the button on the key fob to remote start my Aston Martin DBS Volante with a sleek black interior and exterior, a fortune for a car that doesn’t get to be driven as much as it deserves.