Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Got your name wrong accidentally in front of my boss.”
“You cad.” I gasped. “We’ve been living together for—”
“Relax, it was before we moved in together.” He waved a flippant hand. “It’s all different now. I know everything about you.”
“You do not.”
“Try me.”
Normally, I’d pass. But my other option was sobbing into a box of chocolate on the stairway of my previous workplace, and I was eager to cap my embarrassment quota for the decade.
“What’s my full name?” I quipped.
“Daphne Helen Marie Markham.”
“Okay. That’s on my gym membership on the fridge. Favorite biscuits?”
“Digestives.”
That was easy, though. They were the only kind I kept in the flat.
“Wardrobe quirk?” I wanted to see if he noticed I color coordinated my dresses with my purses.
“You never wear underwear.” He grinned winningly. “Which I approve of, by the way.”
“Oi, of course I do!” I slapped his thigh. Ouch. Was he made out of iron?
“Then how come they’re never in the washing machine?”
“I wash them by hand. They’re delicate.” I fisted a couple of truffles, then shoved them into my mouth and chewed.
“Just like you,” he said sarcastically. “By the way, your teeth are brown from the chocolate.”
I opened my mouth, spitting the half-chewed truffle back into the box, horrified.
His jaw pulsed. “You’re doing this again.”
“Doing what?”
“Caring what people think.”
“Would you please just stop?”
“Stop what?”
“Stop being funny and charming.”
“So you find me funny and charming?” That sultry zing in his eyes was back.
“You’re trying to be,” I amended, glad I’d run out of chocolate. A wave of queasiness washed through me. “It’s not working. I know your game.”
Riggs leaned on his elbows, smirking. “I have a game now, do I? Please fill me in as to what it is.”
He was grating on my nerves, but at least we weren’t talking about my public meltdown upstairs. I hoped I wasn’t becoming a viral meme this very minute.
British Karen lashes out at boss with a period stain on her bum.
This made Elvis’s dying on his toilet seat look like a graceful departure.
“You love female attention. You don’t care how or where you get it, or who you destroy in the process.” I crossed my arms.
People sidestepped us on the stairs. It was time to evacuate. I rose up and dusted off my dress, too preoccupied to care that I was sporting a period stain. I wasn’t even supposed to get my period until next week. BJ must’ve thrown me out of cycle with his traumatic news. I made my way to the subway, with Riggs tailing me.
“And what evidence do you have to support this claim?” he probed as I slam-dunked the empty Godiva box into a bin.
“You’re having an affair with a married woman.” I suppressed a burp. “You’re ruining a family.”
“Don’t tell me you grew sympathy for Gretchen Beatty in the last ten minutes.” He put a hand to his heart.
“Hardly.” I tilted my chin up. “But think about the children.”
“I prefer not to. I have a strong aversion to them, generally speaking.”
“Color me shocked.” I snorted, getting more riled up, although I noticed he stayed close behind me, hiding my period stain. “I’ve never met a man quite so reckless. You’re nearing forty and don’t even have a place!”
“I could have a place,” he said dryly, in a way that almost made me believe him. “And a car. And all those little insurances you have to pay monthly. I choose not to.”
“Why?”
“Freedom. Did you know the word mortgage means dead pledge in French? When you own something, it is bound to own you back.”
“Maybe I’d like to be owned. Living like a wild weed, without a place to call home . . . seems like a miserable existence to me.”
Riggs followed me down the stairs to the subway, his movements panther-like—sleek, long, and graceful. He was drawing looks from women and men alike, and the sheer presence of him made me lose my balance.
“I was never in any danger of ruining Gretchen’s marriage,” he said finally.
“How come?” I challenged, passing through the turnstile. He hopped over it after me. My future husband was a delinquent. Lovely.
“Because.” He leaned against the wall on the subway platform casually, one leg propped up. “It was already ruined when I entered the picture. Jason has been having an affair with Gretchen’s sister for ten years.”
“What a bunch of crock.” I rolled my eyes, producing a small mirror from my wallet and then checking my lipstick. “Gretchen’s daughter Presence is already nine.”
“She named her daughters Lyric and Presence?” Riggs wore a repulsed smirk. “She’s crueler than I thought. Anyway, that’s the God-honest truth. Gretchen found Jason and her sister in a compromising position the same day they arrived back from their honeymoon. Their marriage hasn’t been legit since.”
Shamefully, this piece of sordid information filled me with pleasure. Gretchen had always been on the winning end. I’d never seen her wronged.