Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Miranda patted the side of her bed as she shifted her legs out of the way.
And, fuck, did this feel like the set up for a letdown.
But I walked over anyway.
I sat down.
“I don’t want you in the guest room anymore,” she said as I pretended not to tense up. “I want you in my room,” she went on. “With me,” she finished.
“Yeah?” I asked, giving her a tentative smile.
“I mean, I know the job is technically done, and maybe you want to get back to your own life, but if—“
“I would like you to be a part of my life,” I cut her off, watching as her gaze lifted, eyes hopeful.
“I know there are… geographical complications,” she said.
“It’s an hour away, sweetheart, not a world. And I am a known slacker who only takes jobs when he really needs to. I can be in the city as much as I want.”
“Cam cleared my schedule for a week.”
“I heard that.”
“I was thinking that, maybe after a couple of days, we could… spend some time at your house,” she suggested.
“I would fucking love that,” I said, watching her eyes go soft at my immediate agreement. “Besides, it sounds like there is a bit of a media storm going on,” I told her, watching as her eyes widened. “It might be nice to get out of the city for a bit. And, if you are away, Cam and Mitchell can get some much-needed time off as well.”
“I can’t imagine what Cam is going through,” she said, shaking her head. “Realizing you’ve been sleeping next to a monster. What?” she asked, making me realize my eyes must have slid away at the thoughts that were moving through my head.
About being a bit of a monster myself.
About her seeing that part of me.
“Brock,” she called, her hand landing on mine when I didn’t answer her. “Why do you look so upset?”
To that, I sighed. “I just… I didn’t ever want you to see me get dark like that.”
“You were defending me,” she said, brows drawing together. “I think anyone would get a little dark when they are defending someone who is… special to them. I mean, not that I’m, you know, special to you. I just—“
“Sweetheart,” I cut her off, saving her from even another second more of uncertainty, insecurity. “You are absolutely very special to me.”
I wasn’t quite ready to say the words I was really feeling. And I didn’t think she wanted to hear them while in a hospital bed after having been attacked.
But there would be plenty of time for that.
“Okay, Miss Coulter,” a voice said a while later, after the doctor came in and told her that her scans were okay, saying they would get the discharge papers ready. “Let’s get your statement prepared,” he said as he moved in.
“Who are you?” she asked, brows furrowing.
“Quinton Baird,” I told her. “He’s a fixer. Crisis manager,” I clarified. “I wasn’t expecting the boss himself,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand.
“With a client as big as Miranda Coulter, you get me. Until we can find someone who specializes in this sort of shit,” he clarified.
So then he pulled up a seat and they worked out a statement that he would deliver for her to the press as we snuck out through a side door.
“What?” I asked as I felt Miranda’s gaze on my profile as we rode in the back of a cab with Cam in the front, all three of us on our way back to her penthouse.
“Your town is… intriguing,” she said. “Private investigators and ‘fixers’ and the mafia who owns restaurants…”
“Baby, that’s just the tip of the iceberg,” I told her. “But there is plenty of time to fill you in on that later.”
“Over Chinese,” Cam called back to us. “Which should be arriving at the building in under thirty minutes.”
I wondered then if Miranda had ever considered the possibility of having Cam take a more direct role in her company.
He already did so much. So much, in fact, that he managed to step into her shoes when she was away for a few days at the psych ward.
She’d probably been so wrapped up in having him be there to help her manage her life, that she never really stopped to think that he was more than capable of handling her work, so that she could live and manage her own life.
Maybe that was a suggestion I could make to her while we spent some time at my house.
We all walked up to the elevator in silence, ignoring the worried look of the doorman, Frank, whose daughter probably filled him in on the drama. I would find some time to sneak away to talk to him later. But my main focus at the moment was getting Miranda settled.