Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99675 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99675 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“I don’t intend to speak to that son of a filthy sow ever again, but someone needs to. He was there. He knows it was an accident.”
Parker may be an insecure, passive aggressive man/child, but he’s not going to have me wrongfully imprisoned for an accident.
“David Pitt will be handling the case. He’ll know how best to proceed.”
“David who?”
“A colleague of mine. Practices criminal law––I refer all my clients to him.”
“I can’t afford him! As it is, it’ll take me forever to pay you back.”
“You don’t have to pay anyone back. Calvin’s taking care of it.”
“I’m not a charity case. How much do you charge? Three hundred an hour?”
The dark humor on his face says one thing only––he might as well have called me a dumbass. There’s that itchy feeling again.
Breathing out a tired sigh, I try again. “Five hundred.”
“You can’t afford me.”
“A thousand? Are you kidding me? What the hell have I been doing with my time? I should’ve gone to law school.” This is the part of the program where I close my eyes and bang my head against the window. It will take me forever to dig myself out of this stink hole.
“I don’t charge by the hour, Jones. I’m a business manager. I’m paid in percentages.”
I glance at moneybags. Lost in thought, he’s wearing a subtle smile. What does he have to smile about? Probably the karmic retribution I’m currently experiencing.
“Finding this hilarious, are you?”
“Not at all,” he answers without hesitation. Our eyes meet briefly and I can see that he means it.
“I want to know exactly what this is going to cost me because if it takes me holding up a bank, I’m paying back every cent.”
“I think we’ve established that you’re not cut out for a life of crime. Besides, Calvin’s already paid up.”
“Then I’ll pay Calvin back. I want the exact amount.”
I get a long-suffering sigh, coupled with a raised eyebrow. “The amount is zero.”
The stretch of silence that follows leaves me drained, whatever energy I have left leeching out of me. What’s the point of fighting it? Really? It doesn’t make a lick of difference anyway. Way too often it seems my life is on a fixed track headed nowhere I want to go.
I steal another glance at my new roommate. He did nothing to deserve this. This is nobody’s fault but my own. Time to embrace the fact that I will be at this man’s mercy for the next three months. And God knows I could’ve done a heck of a lot worse than living with Fancy McButterpants in what is sure to be a fancy apartment. Best to start off on the right foot.
“Look, Vaughn, I get that I’m not your favorite person. I don’t know what kind of favor you owe Cal that would require you to volunteer as tribute, but here we are, stuck with each other for the next…what is it that you said?” Arching a dramatic eyebrow, I add, “The next three months. I think we can manage to stay out of each other’s hair for three months.” I make a show of staring at his perfectly styled dark brown hair. “Even though you use a ghastly amount of hair product.”
Frowning, he squirms in his seat. “I do not use hair product.”
“Agree to disagree. Anywho, this should be easy enough. You work days. I work nights. We’ll hardly see each other. Absolutely no danger of anyone accidental humping.”
His reaction comes swiftly. His head whips around, guilt and surprise splashed across his supermodel worthy features. Finally––a genuine show of emotion. Score one for team Jones. Satisfaction turns the corners of my mouth up. No doubt about it, my life is a dumpster fire if this is the highlight of my evening.
His attention slides back to the road ahead. Three long minutes of heavy silence follow. “I didn’t mean––”
“Easy there, counselor.” The last thing I want is a long, awkward apology from him. “No harm, no foul. Hurting my feelings would require that I care what you, or any man thinks, and I assure you I don’t. Quite frankly, after tonight, I am this close to moving to the Isle of Lesbos. All I need is your legal expertise and a bed to sleep in for the next three months.”
He blows out a deep breath, his body relaxing while his hands tighten on the burl wood steering wheel. “You have it.”
I turn in my seat to face him. I want him to see how sincere I am when I say this, “And I appreciate it. I know this sucks for you, too.”
Holding my steady gaze, he gives me a curt nod.
Chapter Four
It’s four a.m. by the time we reach my fifth floor walk up in Greenwich Village. Vaughn insisted we grab some of my things before we head to his place. Every reason I had for him to wait in the car was rebutted with vigor. The futility of debating with a lawyer only hit me after I’d already wasted a pile of time. This is how that went––