Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I smile up at him in sheer disbelief, and he returns mine with a sweet smirk, like it was nothing, but I know better. He’s giving me access to people who trust him, without a clue as to whether I would be hirable or not. I owe him big time.
“I can’t believe you did this for me,” I say, nearly in tears. I’ll blame it on that stupid lump in my throat.
I click my seatbelt off, throw it to the side, and move closer to him. Our legs touch, and I reach up to kiss him. When my lips meet his scruffy cheeks for a quick peck, he gasps and goes still.
Oh no, I’ve overstepped some boundary.
As quick as possible, I scoot back over to my side of the backseat. He resumes breathing, and our eyes meet. His are as black as night.
“I’m happy to help you, Tessa,” he says in a husky voice. His intense gaze startles me, because I can’t tell if he’s mad or ready to pounce. My needy body hopes for the latter.
“Sir, we’re here,” his driver announces. The car comes to a stop outside Hammond Hotel, and the tension building between us dissipates.
Barclay lowers his head and pushes a breath out between his lips. It sounds like a long sigh of relief, likely since I’m getting out of the car. I fear my kiss was probably over the top. I hope he doesn’t regret helping me.
“I’ll get her door, Lawrence,” he says, already halfway out of the vehicle. He has my door open in a flash, his hand extended. I place my shaky one in his and exit the car with his help.
Still clasping hands and standing on the sidewalk, I squint up at him, trying to block the midday sun. He’s beautiful from my vantage point almost a foot below him. His hard jaw is framed with perfect scruff. His black eyes shine with vigor and strength, but there’s a hint of something else behind them. Determination, maybe.
I’ll never meet a more gorgeous man. It can’t be humanly possible. I memorize his face, the touch of his hand holding mine, the way his eyes regard me. My heart aches, because, in this moment, I know it’s our goodbye. Tears start to fill my eyes, and I pray he says something, anything. Finally, he does.
“Tessa.” My name rolls off his tongue in a slow, reverent way. He doesn’t seem mad, relieving some of my fears. I still believe he’s dismissing me. Though his voice and eyes may say differently, his guarded stance is clearly telling me goodbye. “Thanks again for all your help today.”
He lifts my hand to his mouth and grazes my knuckles with his lips. My knees almost give way. I feel his soft touch in hidden places that ache for him. If only he’d let me in. He blinks and drops my hand, then a second later, his eyes blaze anew at me, making me wonder what he truly feels.
“On the way back to the city, I emailed the manager at the hotel,” he says, tossing his head back toward the building behind him. “I told him to comp all your meals, even your hotel minibar while you’re here.”
“You don’t need to do all that, really. It’s too much,” I stammer on, confused by all his goodness, yet odd aloofness. What am I missing? “You’ve done more than enough by giving me all the contacts, plus I got to meet my favorite author. I’m still pinching myself.”
“Good luck, Tessa,” he says, straightening his perfect tie. His eyes shutter to a cooler version of himself. The heat is gone. I bite my lip as tears threaten again. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“You too, Barclay,” I whisper. His head tilts, and for a brief second, I think he’s going to say something to me. Instead, he turns and walks back to his car.
I stand alone on the sidewalk with a hand at my throat and watch him pull away. I wave at him like a lovesick teenager, but he doesn’t turn around in his seat. Probably for the best.
I walk through the buzzing lobby of my hotel. Happy people and smiling faces surround me, eager to see what this city has to offer. I feel as if the best thing about Manhattan just drove away.
Exhausted from the day’s roller coaster of emotions, I drag my feet down the hallway to my room. When I place the keycard over the lock, a green light glows, and I turn the door handle. Once inside my room, I notice a red-foil balloon shaped like a strawberry floating in the air. A long yellow ribbon connects it to a platter of chocolate-covered strawberries sitting on the desk.
“Barclay?” I ask in the quietest whisper. My chin trembles. He remembered.