Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
I puff air into my cheeks, feeling guilty. “It’s not you. It’s me.” I sigh. “I’m sorry.” I shrug. “I have no excuse, because you’re perfect.”
She gives me a lopsided smile. “Do you want to talk about it in bed?”
I chuckle and sip my red wine. “As tempting as that is . . . no.”
“So this is our last date?”
I wince. “I think so.”
“I really thought we had something.” She pulls a whiny face, and as I stare at her, I remember Claire teasing me with that exact line, as if she knew I heard it often.
And I do . . . but I never knew how it felt to hear it from someone I cared about.
It sucks.
I read the report as Fletcher stands in front of me, nervously waiting for my opinion.
A smile crosses my face. He’s worked hard on this; I can tell. “This is good, Fletch.”
“Really?”
“I like it. I would have perhaps added a little more information on projected earnings for the first quarter.” I look up at him. “But it’s good. You did well this week.”
He smiles. “Thanks.” He turns to walk out, and I notice it’s dark outside. I kept him later than usual. “How are you getting home?”
“Subway,” he says.
“I can give you a lift if you want.”
He frowns. “You want to drive me home?”
“No. I’m offering you a lift because it’s Friday night, and I know you’ve missed your usual train. And besides, your mother will have a conniption if something were to happen to you.”
“Ah.” He thinks about it.
“Contrary to what you believe, Fletcher, I’m not the devil. I have no plans to kill you and bury you in a ditch on a deserted road.”
And besides, I want to see your mother.
“See, the fact that you said that . . . is just creepy,” he mutters dryly.
I chuckle. “Was a little.” I turn off my computer. “Okay, let’s go.”
Twenty minutes later we arrive at my parking space, and Fletcher’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “This is your car?”
“Nice, huh?” The lights blink as I unlock it.
He whistles as he walks around it. “A brand-new Aston Martin.”
“Uh-huh.”
“In sapphire black.” He gasps in awe.
“You got it.” I smile. “You like these cars?”
“I love these cars.”
I smile. “Maybe if you get your license, you can have a drive of it.”
“Really?” His eyes widen in excitement.
I shrug. “Sure, why not?”
Fletcher has grown on me. He’s not a bad kid after all. Smart and funny, like his mom.
He flashes me a broad smile and climbs into the passenger seat. I pull out of the parking lot with speed, and he smiles goofily through the windshield.
She better be home.
A long hour later we pull into his street. “Just up here on the left,” he says.
“I have been here before, remember?” I smirk.
He gives a subtle shake of his head, embarrassed.
My eyes flick over to him. “You know, I hate to admit it, but you impressed me that day.”
“Why would that impress you?”
I shrug. “I like the way you look after your mom.”
He smiles. “Yeah, well, she’s pretty amazing.”
She sure is.
I pull up out front and park the car. “I might just pop in to say hello to her—clear the air, so to speak?” I say. I think quickly on my feet. “We were angry with each other last time we saw one another in my office.”
He looks at me for a bit, as if carefully considering my request. “Yeah, okay, I suppose.”
We get out of the car and walk up to the house. I notice that there is no crap everywhere, unlike last time. The door opens in a rush, and Claire stands there, as if not realizing we were on the other side. She’s wearing a black dress, and her hair is up. She looks beautiful.
“Oh. Tristan.” Her face falls when she sees me, and she stares at me for a beat. “Hello,” she forces out.
“Hi.” I smile. Nerves dance in my stomach.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I drove Fletch home.”
Her eyes flick between me and Fletcher. “Did you forget about tonight, Fletch?” she asks. She seems nervous.
“What?” he says.
“Remember?” Her eyes widen. “I’m going out, and you’re babysitting Patrick for me.”
“Oh,” Fletcher replies. “Yes, I did. With Paul from Pilates. Sorry I’m late.”
What?
“That’s me,” a voice says from behind us. We all turn to see some blond dude walking up the path toward the house. He’s all dressed up.
I stare at him as my brain misfires. Huh?
“Hello.” He smiles. “I’m Paul.”
“This is Tristan, Fletcher’s boss,” Claire interrupts before I get a chance to say something.
“Hello,” I bark. I shake his hand and then turn to Fletcher and widen my eyes.
Are you just going to stand there?
Fletcher smirks and kisses his mother on the cheek. “Have fun, Mom.”
“Thanks, darling.” She turns to Paul. “Are you ready?”