Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 129427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Boy, what a missed connection. I flopped over in bed, and turned my pillow to the cool side. Would sleeping even be an option tonight?
Out of habit, my iPhone lay on my bedside table, within arm’s reach. As Gabriella’s assistant, it hadn’t been out of the realm of possibility to be woken in the middle of the night for a crisis with a flight or a sudden realization that we were about to run the same pair of shoes a second time. From what I’d already gathered, Neil was going to be a different type of boss.
Or at least, that’s what I was thinking right before my eyes slid closed, about two seconds before my phone vibrated. My bedside table resonated the buzz like a snare drum, and I sat up automatically, trained well by two years in servitude.
It was Neil’s work number. I glanced at the time. Ten forty-five? Why was he still at work at ten forty-five, when no one else was?
“Hello?” I stifled a yawn as I answered.
“Hello, Sophie. I hope I didn’t wake you.” It disturbed me just how much of an effect his voice had on me. It was like whiskey, deep and comforting, warming my limbs and dizzying my head.
I was so intoxicated by him, it took me a second to stammer out, “N-no. I, uh. I was up.”
“Good.” I heard a noise over the line, an inhale interrupted by a catch, as though he’d stopped breathing mid-thought. Then he said, softly, “This would be much simpler if we could meet in person.”
“Oh.” I looked down at my lap. My face was scrubbed free of makeup. My hair was in a messy topknot, and I was wearing my flannel pajamas with the cartoon coffee cups all over them.
If Gabriella had summoned me, she wouldn’t have given me more than, “Come, I need you.” I would be lucky to get a location out of her, because she expected me to keep track of her schedule both in and out of the office. At least I knew where Neil was calling from.
“Look, it’s going to take me a minute to get down there—”
“No, no, this isn’t work related.” He was quick to say it, and then a silence followed in which I swore I could hear both of our hearts beating like big, nervous butterfly wings. He cleared his throat. “Would you be terribly put out if I... stopped by your place?”
If anyone had ever needed a movie montage, it was me, at that moment. I could leap out of bed, dress myself with comical franticness, and when I answered the door I would look like Barbie. “Oh, this old thing?” I would say, spinning in my 1960’s Givenchy inspired dress. “I just threw it on.”
He could probably make it to my apartment in twenty minutes. I would barely have time to brush my teeth and clear up the dirty dishes and empty Diet Coke cans from the coffee table.
“That would be fine,” I said, weirdly chipper. I was sure he could hear my fake smile through the phone.
“I’ll need your address, for the driver,” he said apologetically.
“You can’t stalk me off the company database?” I teased.
It fell flat when he turned suddenly serious. “I would really rather not. That isn’t how I conduct my business or personal life.”
I blurted out our address, already on my feet and headed to the closet. “Just don’t drive too fast. I need to tidy up.”
“This isn’t a state visit,” he assured me. “I’ll see you soon.”
I ended the call and held my phone to my chest for a fraction of a second before tossing it on my bed and rifling through my clothes. Nothing fancy, just a black cashmere v-neck sweater and a pair of comfy jeans. Then I ran to the bathroom and set a land speed record for teeth brushing. I was just clearing the living room of some of Holli’s recreational paraphernalia— he was my employer, after all— when the door buzzed.
“Yes?” I asked over the intercom.
“It’s Neil.” I buzzed him up then cracked the door. We’re a fourth floor walkup, and the stairs wound down a long central shaft to the small lobby. The click of the outside latch echoed up the stairs, and my mouth went dry.
I heard footsteps. I heard his footsteps, headed to my apartment. Why was I so keyed up by that? I pressed a hand to the bare expanse of skin above the neckline of my sweater, and felt the flutter of my pulse there. I pressed my thighs together, then stopped the instant I realized what I was doing.
What the hell was wrong with me? I had no idea why he was coming over. For all I knew, he was coming to tell me he felt really bad about firing me, but he had to because he was so creeped out to be around me.