Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Perhaps being Royce’s wife will be your only job.
I stared glumly at the water feature in the center of the atrium. It was a glass wall with the HBHC logo etched on it and water cascading down both sides. The water flowed in waves, rippling down the glass, and it was a nice effect. Pretty and—
Oh, shit.
I dug my phone out, flipped to the camera app and snapped a few pictures of the water wall. I’d been busy yesterday helping my students find different tutors since Alice demanded I quit my summer job. I’d forgotten all about her Instagram assignment.
I held the phone at a crazy angle, hoping for an artistic shot when my father appeared. He put his hands in the pockets of his suit pants, like he wasn’t sure what else to do with them. “Sorry for making you wait. The morning meeting ran long.”
“It’s all right.” I stood, and my father’s eyes widened.
He gazed at the outfit Alice had instructed me to wear today. It was a white, sleeveless blouse with pin-tuck details at the neckline and paired with a navy skirt and nude heels.
“You look nice.”
I pasted on a smile. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Come on. I’ll take you up.”
We rode in the glass elevator, and all the space we didn’t take up was filled with my father’s shame. I hated how everything had changed between us. No matter how much I wanted to, I’d never be able to see him as I once had. My parents’ lie had cost so much more than just money.
The elevator car stopped one floor from the top, and my father navigated us through the hallways until we reached Alice’s assistant’s desk.
“Since you’re already in the city,” he said, “do you want to grab lunch when you’re done?”
No, I didn’t. I was sure as soon as my appointment was over, I’d want to get the fuck out of the building. When I hesitated, hurt washed over his expression.
I gave him a sad smile, trying to show he wasn’t the cause. “I’d like to, but I don’t have any idea how long this will take.”
“Okay, I understand.” My father straightened the coat sitting on his shoulders as he prepared to head to his office. “Text me if you change your mind.” His gaze flitted to Alice’s office door. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
He put a hand on my arm to give me support, and then he was gone, moving down the hall. His posture indicated the guilt he was carrying was heavy. I tried not to think about it. I needed to focus.
“Hi,” I said to the pretty woman seated at the desk across from Alice’s office. “I’m Marist Northcott. I have a ten-thirty with—”
“Go right in.” The woman waved her hand toward the door. “She’s ready for you.”
Too bad I was nowhere near ready for her. But I rapped my knuckles on the door anyway, waited for Alice’s permission, and when it was granted, I turned the handle.
Her office was exactly how I expected it to be. It belonged on Pinterest boards and Instagram feeds. The side wall was all windows with natural light and a view of the bay. Her workspace was organized and tastefully decorated in soothing grays and greens. Even the clutter on her side table felt ‘right,’ as if it had been placed just so.
Manufactured.
“Oh.” Alice froze mid-step and a frown cast on her face. “What are you wearing?”
I glanced down, checking to make sure my clothes hadn’t magically changed during the elevator ride up. “Um . . . I thought this was what you said I should wear.”
“Hmm.” She evaluated my outfit and tucked two fingers under her chin. “That white’s not right on you. You look washed out.”
She pointed to one of the chairs in front of her desk, indicating where I should sit as she moved to the closet. A few backup outfits on hangers hung there, over bins with labels on them. She rifled through her choices and selected an ivory top.
“I think we’re close enough in size, this should work.” She thrust the silk fabric into my hands.
I stared down at it, then lifted my gaze to her. She peered back at me impatiently.
Oh, God. “You want me to change right now?”
Her expression said I was being weird, and the idea of me taking my shirt off in front of her was wasn’t.
Her tone was matter-of-fact. “We’re both girls.”
“Right.” Except she was a woman, one who was twenty years older than I was and potentially going to be my stepmother-in-law.
I shoved aside the icky sensation in my stomach, draped the top over the back of the chair, and gripped the hem of my shirt with nervous hands. She appeared disinterested in watching me change, but also made no attempt to turn or give me privacy, so I turned in place. I wasn’t ashamed of my body, but this was an office, not a locker room.