Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
But things got even worse. I was so angry and mad that I literally lost my marbles a bit and became a super-slutty tramp. I started hooking up with men right and left to drive the anger out of my body, and it kind of worked actually.
At first, it was hook-ups with men I knew. My partners were male acquaintances, ex-boyfriends, and even my old high school teacher who’d just moved back to town. But after I ran through that pool, I went on-line and continued my rampage there. I met all sorts of gorgeous, handsome men who were only too happy to meet my physical needs, especially since I didn’t want to know their names, much less date them. So yes, I slept with Tom, Dick, and Harry, and I felt really great about it.
The problem is that after that frenetic phase passed, I discovered I was pregnant, and not only that, but there was no way to realistically determine who the father was. After all, some of my hook-ups had been anonymous, and their emails and cell phone numbers no longer worked when I tried. So what’s a girl to do?
Well, it turns out that the pregnancy was the best thing that ever happened to me because I got my head put on straight after seeing the first ultrasounds. There was something about the image of the child that tugged at my heartstrings and suddenly, I knew I didn’t want to continue living life in the fast lane. As a result, I quit my job as a personal stylist at Nordstrom, and started spending my days at home, cooking, gardening and generally nesting in anticipation of my baby. I also stopped going out, and focused instead on eating healthy, minimizing stress, and getting lots of rest and relaxation. It was quite the turnabout in lifestyle, and just in time, if I say so myself.
But a girl’s got to put food on the table, and at first, I didn’t now what to do with myself. Then, I realized I could babysit. I live in a humble cottage on the edge of a fancy neighborhood. The manors around me likely all had children, and most of them probably were in search of a reliable babysitter.
As a result, I started posting flyers around the neighborhood, as well as ads on the Internet. Truthfully, I hadn’t babysat since high school, but it was okay. Most of the parents just wanted someone trustworthy who knows their way around kids, and I was that person. I started getting regular gigs, and then those customers started introducing me to their friends. That’s how I met Amelia’s family, actually. An old client knows Amelia’s father through a neighborhood group, and when Rick posted asking about babysitters, the client forwarded my contact info.
I haven’t been babysitting the little girl for long, actually. Probably only about a month, but what’s really interesting is that her dad, Rick Patton, is actually home when I’m over. It seems that Rick is a high-flying jewelry executive who’s always buying gems from far-flung locations. Evidently, he needs to be on phone calls to India, Nepal, Hong Kong, and Saudi Arabia all the time, and because of the time difference, these calls can take place at 8 p.m. or later. As a result, he needs a sitter to watch his daughter, even though he’s technically at home in his office.
Tonight’s one such night. I can hear Mr. Patton’s deep voice as I tiptoe down the dark hallway. Goodness, it’s almost 9 p.m. already, and yet the conversation sounds quite animated. I walk soundlessly towards the sliver of light on the ground, and then pause on the carpet outside his door.
“Thirteen carats?” Rick growls. “That’s not enough. You know the mines from Golconda produce twenty carats regularly.”
I gasp soundlessly. Is he talking about diamonds? I know Golconda is a famed mining region in India that’s known for its precious gems. In fact, twenty carats of anything would be remarkable, much less a diamond.
But it sounds like Mr. Patton’s not getting the right response because his voice lowers into a snarl then.
“Fuck that,” he rasps. “If Cartier’s also looking to buy, then we won’t give an inch. They’re not going to steal this from under my nose.”
My eyes grow wide because as a dealer of fine jewels, Mr. Patton must be up against the most famous maisons in the world. Cartier must be one such competitor, as well as Buccellati, Verdura, and the like. Goodness, the competition must be cutthroat.
Then again, I know I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but what’s the harm? It’s not like I’m going to open my own jewelry business to compete against his. In fact, as Mr. Patton’s deep voice continues to ring out, a hot shiver runs down my spine because this must be how an alpha male does business. Hard. Fast. Unrelenting, and with no mercy.