Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Just the kind of buyer I like. Quick turnaround, little stress. “I’ll meet him.” The words surprise me as they come out of my mouth.
“Okay.” Andrea doesn’t question it, getting up from her chair. “Five o’clock. Miss Rivers will be at work so take the keys.” She leaves, minimizing the opportunity for me to back out. Of course, I could go after Andrea, tell her that I have a meeting that I forgot about, but something keeps me in my chair. Perhaps I’ll get some answers to my questions. Like who’s in that photograph. Do I really want to know? I slump back and drop my head into my hands. I don’t know. I really don’t know, and it’s sending me off the deep end.
* * *
Fifteen minutes ahead of my appointment, I approach Raya’s front door cautiously, even though I know she’s not here. I head straight downstairs to the area where I’d seen her photos and come to an abrupt stop when the cabinet comes into view. The picture of her with the other man is gone. Every other picture remains, but that one is gone. I stare at the empty space, mind whirling with possible explanations. She’s hidden it, a precaution in case I happened to come back and snoop, or she’s got rid of it, because she wants what it represents banished from her life. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying not to think too hard about it. Yet the harder I try, the more I fail. “Damn, Drew.” A knock at the front door offers relief, if only for a while.
I make my way upstairs, opening the door to my potential buyer. “Drew Davies.” I extend my hand to the man before me. “Mr. Watts?”
His face is tipped up, taking in the exterior. “Yes.” He drops his head, a warm smile on his face. “Pleasure to meet you, Drew.” His hand in mine is solid.
“Please, come in.”
You know a buyer is serious when they check every nook and cranny, feel every wall, try out every appliance and tap. Mr. Watts is serious, asking all the questions I would expect of someone who’s truly interested in paying this kind of money. He roams the house for over an hour.
“It’s in spectacular condition, as you can see.” We pass Raya’s bedroom, and my feet waver in their pace toward the stairs. The bed. The sheets. A dress draped over the back of the chair.
“I’m just going to have another circuit, if that’s okay,” Mr. Watts says, casting his shrewd eyes around the high cornicing of the landing as he pulls a tape measure from his pocket. “Take some measurements.”
“Sure. Take your time.” I head downstairs, leaving him to it. Back in the kitchen, I sit on a stool and pull my phone out to check my e-mails, anything to stop me looking around, anything to stop my mind straying to Raya. What a joke. I’m sitting in her fucking house, and, like the twat I am, I put myself here.
“Hello?” Her voice drifts down the stairs, and I shoot up from my stool, looking around, like—what? I can hide? Run away? Then steps, dainty and measured, hit the wooden steps. The ball of my fist meets my forehead, my eyes clenched shut. “Drew?”
“Hi.” I breathe, opening my eyes while bracing myself for the vision of her. She’s loaded down with bags, her hair a wet mess, her white T-shirt sopping wet. “Raining again?” I ask like a chump, my eyes cemented to the pink bra revealed through the wet material. Nipples like bullets. Skin pink and cold. A few licks and I would have her body temperature back to where it should be. Boiling.
She dumps her bag on the worktop, and I vaguely register her torso arching inward, her hand peeling the material from her skin. “The buyer’s still here?”
“Taking measurements. It’s a good sign.”
“Drew!” she snaps, and my stare jumps up from her chest to her face. She narrows her eyes on me, and I can’t lie: the disapproval hurts. I’ve seen every inch of her skin. It shouldn’t bother her now, and it bothers me that it does. “Should I leave?” she asks.
I’m just about to tell her that would be wise when heavy footsteps descend the stairs. We both turn to find Mr. Watts has made his way down.
I slap myself back to life and pull in my jacket. “Mr. Watts, this is Miss Rivers, the owner.” I move over to join them. “All done?”
He doesn’t answer, and it takes a moment to realize that he’s too busy staring at Raya to hear me. Or staring at her fucking chest. A beastly rage creeps up on me, and next thing I know, I’ve moved between them, blocking his view, shielding her. “All done?” I repeat, not snarling but not far from it. He looks up at me, and I raise my eyebrows expectantly, to hell with what he thinks. To hell with the sale and commission. Good God, hold me back.