Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
“Is there anything else you require, madam?”
“I’m all set, Percy. Thank you. Have a good night.” I shut the door to the master bedroom and left him to locking up.
The following morning I woke up to a delivery of fresh flowers from Hale with a card wishing me luck on this momentous day. I texted him to say thank you, knowing I’d have news for him as soon as he was waking up on the other side of the globe.
As the hours passed my nerves started to jangle. It was a good thing I got my lashes done, because by the time I put my makeup on I could barely keep my hand steady enough to apply lip gloss.
Once I was dressed, I met Marty outside.
“Good morning,” the driver greeted in a thick accent.
“Morning.” I tried to smile brightly but my nerves made me question the contents of my stomach.
I would forever be cursed with a nervous bladder that made me impulsively want to pee before any noteworthy life events. Staying intentionally dehydrated helped curb my unintentional delusional habits.
The closer we drove to Pennsylvania the more I feared something going wrong. He was going to cancel or there was going to be an accident that would close down the interstate. A meteor was going to hit the planet—not huge, just enough to take out the tri-state area and prevent me from getting to lunch so I could finally meet my dad.
None of that actually happened. We made it to the restaurant with little traffic and parked with several minutes to spare.
I looked at the cars in the parking lot, trying to pinpoint my dad’s Chevy truck. I didn’t know what color it was, but that didn’t matter. There were no trucks to be seen.
Oh, my God, he’s standing me up!
Sick to my stomach, I dug out my phone. The last message I had from him was from last night. It said he couldn’t wait to meet me. If he bailed on me, would he at least have the decency to tell me, or would I end up sitting all alone like a ditched blind date?
“Shall I walk you inside?” Marty asked.
I looked out the window again, my brows pulling tight. “You don’t have to.”
“I was merely asking if you were ready to go inside. I have strict instructions from Mr. Davenport to accompany you at all times.”
“What? Why?”
Marty had driven me all over New York and he never followed me into restaurants or stores. What was different about Pennsylvania?
“I’m merely following instructions.”
Was this because of my dad? What was Hale expecting?
Overkill or not, Marty wasn’t going to disregard a direct order from Hale. I checked my reflection in a compact and took a few deep breaths. Great, I had to pee again.
“I’m ready when you are.”
Marty exited the car and came around to my door. I crossed the parking lot on stiff, shaky legs.
Inside the restaurant, most tables were empty and the air smelled of maple syrup. The soft clatter of metal spatulas working over a griddle carried from the back. A man in a black golf shirt appeared with a stack of menus in his arm.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m, uh, meeting someone.”
“Name?”
Did he mean mine or my dad’s? I assumed my dad’s since he’d been the one to make the reservation.
My voice was small and overcome with fear. “Meyers. I’m meeting Raymond Meyers.”
Always Do the Sweet Stuff First
The maître d’ scrolled his finger down the screen of an iPad. “We have you in the back. You can follow me.”
I glanced at Marty and he nodded for me to go. “I’ll be waiting right here.”
Did Hale expect me to get kidnapped? The whole bodyguard thing was throwing me off.
I followed golf shirt through a maze of empty tables to a glass room off the side of the restaurant. There, in the back, sitting by himself, was a man with rounded shoulders, a shiny bald head, though he wasn’t fully bald, and green eyes like mine. He wrung his hands nervously and looked up the moment I approached.
“Rayne?”
My heart jumped into my throat. “Dad?”
He stood and took a step toward me then hesitated. “My God, you’re beautiful.”
I couldn’t speak. My eyes took in every detail from the thick brown hair that encircled his head behind his ears to the way his nose looked like it had been broken a few times. His fingers were fat and creased in a way that told me he worked with his hands. He wasn’t a heavy man, but a stout one. He wore a button-down flannel as if it were a dress shirt and something told me it was one of the nicest he owned.
“Can I…hug you?” he asked and I smiled, my vision blurring with tears.
I threw my arms around him, breathing in the scent of Old Spice and tobacco. There was something else too. Either mouthwash or he’d had a drink that morning. I couldn’t blame him. The thought of tossing back a shot had crossed my mind more than once that day and it wasn’t even noon.