Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
“It wasn’t a terrible shot. Don’t be hard on yourself. I was trained to take one.”
“Clearly.” I snort, motioning to it in his hand.
“I meant to take the shot.” He chuckles.
Why does he have to be so damn handsome? His smile meets his eyes, causing little lines to appear. I take them in along with his strong jawline and the bump on his nose. If I had to guess it’s because it’s been broken, more than once. Somehow it only adds to his appeal. The roughness is a contrast to his fancy suit. He’s intriguing. I can’t help but be drawn to him, which I know is absurd. I have no doubt I’ll end up drawing him. I mean, if he doesn’t kill me.
“I’ll take that.” I try to grab it out of his hand, but he pulls it back.
“Careful.” He messes with it before setting it on the table in my entryway. “Don’t want you hurting yourself.”
“Seriously?” I roll my eyes. “You broke into my house.” I point to my chain hanging from the door.
“I’ll fix it.” He shrugs. “Are you going to tell me your name now?”
“No.”
“All right. Dollface it is.”
“Dollface?” I scrunch my nose.
“You’re delicate.” His eyes linger on my face. “The pink full lips, heart-shaped face and button nose. Not to mention the sprinkle of freckles across your nose and cheeks.” I reach up and touch my lips. When I was in high school, the boys would say not so nice things about them. When Jackson says it, though, he makes them sound beautiful.
“I’m not a doll.” I stomp my foot. I can’t let this man use his sexiness against me. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm acting like a child. Who stomps their feet?
“All right. Freckles it is then. I was wavering between the two.” I glare at him, but he’s not paying attention to me anymore. He’s now taking in my living room.
“I wasn't expecting a guest,” I rush to say defensively. Wait. My place is a mess. It’s filled with things I’ve ordered for essentials along with a ton of art supplies. Some I’ve pulled out of boxes and already started to play with for a few pieces I need to get going on.
There is also some holiday stuff I ordered. I had to leave all my decorations behind. A lot of them I created myself. Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. My heart aches thinking about it, but I push it away. Nina told me she’d get everything stored away until they figure out who has this weird obsession with me.
I’d left in such a hurry in the middle of night I wasn’t able to take much. The only person who knows I’m here is my agent, Nina, the owner of the Nina Townes Gallery in New York. She discovered me and put me out into the world. At least that’s what I thought. Now I’m not so sure about anything.
The dark-haired girl that lives next door comes rushing through my open front door that’s letting in a slight chill. They said snow was coming.
“See! I told you.” The woman points her finger at one of the paintings I did the other day. I was testing a new acrylic paint. Jackson snags her around the waist, stopping her from entering my home further. “My chickens.”
“They’re cute,” I admit. I’ve always lived in the city. No one had chickens running around. So, I love that she has them.
“You cursed them.”
“Cursed them?” What the heck is she talking about? I am so confused.
“Yes, cursed them. I told you!” She stares up at Jackson, who I’m guessing is not her boyfriend. I’ve never seen him coming or going from next door. I would have noticed him. He’s not someone you miss.
Then I remember he called me ‘his’. “Maybe he cursed them.” I point to Jackson. “He’s the one with, ah”—I search for the right wording—“bad energy!” I want to say he’s a cheater, but that sounds harsh, so I go with energy.
“See? Witch!” the woman hisses.
This whole situation is getting weirder by the second.
CHAPTER 3
JACKSON
“All right, Marly, go back home while I deal with the witch.” I urge my sister back toward her house.
“I’m not a witch,” says my woman. She doesn’t know it yet and might even be actively fighting that designation, but it makes no difference to me. Rome wasn’t built in a day.
“That’s what a witch would say,” Marly shoots back.
“No. I think witches would proclaim that they are witches. Why would they hide it?”
“Because they don’t want to get in trouble for their chicken hexes, that’s why.”
“What’s happening here?” A new voice enters the fray.
We all look back to see Mr. Brocade and Mr. Grumpy standing on the sidewalk. Mr. Grumpy has a small rat-like dog in his arms who bares its teeth and growls if we make even the slightest eye contact.