Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 84(@200wpm)___ 67(@250wpm)___ 56(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 84(@200wpm)___ 67(@250wpm)___ 56(@300wpm)
It turns out growing up in Italy is my advantage here. There isn’t anyone on my floor who’s had the experience of living in the Italian culture. I know what Italians like their homes to look like, so in the event we have an Italian client who wants to bring a bit of their culture into their new home, I’m sure I’ll knock it out of the park.
I grab my hair bow from my desk and scoop my hair up into a high ponytail. Wrapping the bow around my hair, I tie it tightly. “Mia, you’d best get running home. It’s going to start pouring in about an hour from what the weatherman says,” Lucy, one of the women I’ve become close to, says. She also works in the design department, but she’s one of the few who were born and raised here in Belfast.
“Oh goodness, thanks for letting me know. I’ll finish up and get out of here before it gets too bad.” I offer a smile to Lucy and click the save icon on my desktop. I then shut the computer down as Lucy’s walking away from the doorway of my office.
I rise and close the door a tad so I can grab my black coat. I slide it over my shoulders, and a yawn comes over me. This job is amazing, but it’s so very exhausting at the same time. I should’ve figured that, though. I’m a first year, so I’m going to be working my ass off.
I zip up my coat and grab my purse, then I’m walking in the hallway leading to the elevator. The elevator arrives quickly, and I waste no time getting inside it and pressing the ‘L’ for the lobby. It’s a short ride, so I hop off when I hit the floor and wave to the security guard, who’s been nice to me since my first day.
I head out onto the street, and the sky is a deep gray color. Looks like the weatherman’s right, but I don’t know if I have an entire hour before I get drenched. I pick up my pace as taxis whisk by me. The streets soon become busy with an influx of other office workers. I’m sure they’re all thinking the same thing I am.
All of a sudden, a man steps into my space, and I’m forced to move to the left, colliding straight into someone else’s chest. “Gosh, I’m so sorry. Someone stepped into me, and I had to move to avoid falling. I’m so, so sorry,” I spit out, then finally look up at the person I’ve run into.
Mesmerizing blue eyes have me lost within them in seconds. There’s only one man I’ve known to have eyes as captivating as this, and sure enough, I take in his entire face. He’s older now, and stress lines his face. His ashy blond hair’s combed back in a modern style, and he wears a gold chain. It simples down the maroon dress shirt and slacks he’s in. “Mia.” My heart sinks into my stomach when he says my name.
I swallow hard and speak. “Cillian.”
The man who destroyed my heart. The one who ripped it out and broke me into a million tiny pieces. The only man I think I’ve ever loved. I tried to date after him, but no one ever compared. No one captivated me in the way Cillian did.
We met when we were attending the same private school. The two of us grew up in that school together, started secretly dating when we were fourteen, and we went public with it when we were seventeen. Neither of our parents were exactly pleased with the pairing, but I think they thought we were going to break up soon. Young love and all that. We kept our relationship going until we were nearly twenty, and then Cillian crushed me.
He told me I was worthless to him, that I was nothing more than an illegitimate stepchild to the man I call my father. Sure, he’s my stepfather, but he’s the man who’s raised me. It’s why he formally adopted me and took me as one of his own.
I knew Cillian came from a powerful family back then, but until the evening of my breakup, I didn’t realize what his father did. My own had to explain to me what Cillian’s father, Bruno, did for a living . . . and it shocked me to know a man I’d met numerous times could be capable of such travesties.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” he says, pulling me out of my own head. His eyes linger on my body, slowly gazing up and down.
“Apparently, neither have you,” I tell him and begin to walk away, but a hand with an iron-clad grip takes hold of my arm.
“Let me go. You’re so good at doing it, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” I hiss and rip my arm away from him while he’s processing my words. I continue down the street, and after a few minutes, I have an eerie feeling settling over me. Goosebumps form up and down my arms, so I turn and look back. About a hundred meters off is Cillian, and he stares right at me as I get to my flat.