Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
My tone remains gentle. Tender. “I just don’t want you wasting money, especially on me.”
“Please stop worrying about money.”
The expression transposes to a sardonic one.
“I swear, the shit is really not an issue.”
“Trust fund kid?”
“Not…exactly.”
It’s my turn to lift my brow in question.
“Chris owned and operated a multibillion-dollar cyber security company. To my understanding – which honestly isn’t much – he created a program to show you the biggest weaknesses in your system that you might not have seen before. Places where more skilled hackers might be able to penetrate. He made most of his money in the private security sector, which is why when he died, I sold it outright to Haworth Enterprises. Upon his death, not only did the majority of the shares in his company fall to me but so did all of his investments – domestic and foreign – his savings – domestic and foreign – and the trust fund his parents had planned to give him when they died which he instructed that they he will to me instead, although we all agreed to keep that locked away to send my theoretical children to college someday.”
There’s no preventing my jaw from tumbling downward.
“Basically, I could never work again, buy the castle from Beauty & The Beast, fill the entire thing with all the books I’ve ever read and want to read, hire an entire staff to maintain it, and still have more money than should be humanly possible left over.”
Wow. I really, really don’t fucking belong even breathing the same air as her.
“So, how about we ditch the dollar worries and focus on the paint ones?” She clears her throat and sashays her way around me to the wall of samples. “What type of color are you thinking? The current shade is this one.” Her finger extends to point to the paper. “White Opulence.”
“Surprise fucking surprise,” I mutter under my breath at the same time I position myself beside her.
“I don’t really like white,” Jaye causally informs, “and he was…almost obsessed with it. Like all of our – er – my sheets are white. I even asked once would it be okay to get some gray pillowcases just to spice shit up and was met by a look of horror that belongs in a Stephen King novel.” Her headshake is followed by her stare lifting to mine. “They were just pillowcases!”
“So, we’ll get some.”
Her brow crinkles in confusion.
“After we’re done here, we can go to wherever it is you go to get some and get you whatever color shit you like.”
She presents me with a slow headshake. “You don’t really wanna spend the whole day shopping.”
“I don’t, but you obviously need to, so I’m here to tag along.” The smile on my face is warm. “Happily, roomie.”
“No,” Jaye playfully shakes her head again, “I prefer sweetheart.”
Me too, honestly.
“Oh, you’re the only one who can add the y sound to shit?”
“Correct.” Her smug nod is attached to an arrogant snicker. “What do you think about maybe a green?” She gestures towards a very light shade. “Mint-chocolate?”
“Are we painting or picking dessert?”
Giggles precede another point elsewhere. This time towards a white blue. “What about morning mist?”
“Mist or piss?”
More laughter escapes, although this one is accompanied by a playful elbow to the side. “Be helpful.”
“Is that not helping?”
Her gaze soars to mine alongside a mirth-filled scowl.
“Alright, what about…” my stare slowly starts to sweep the colorful choices in search of something better, only stopping when I have a viable suggestion. “This one. Taupeoca Pudding.” The eye roll that follows can’t be helped. “Who the fuck came up with these names?”
Jaye giggles again yet gravitates closer to me.
Has her side brushing my side.
The heat from her jean bearing frame practically melting a hole in mine.
She’s right within palm’s reach.
My reach.
Maybe I should drape my arm around her shoulder?
Reach for her hand?
Lean over and…
Nope.
None of that.
And where were you to stop that train of thought from leaving the fucking station?
The woman at my side lifts the sample and nonchalantly nods. “I like it. It’s kind of earthy. Kind of moody.”
“You and those ys today,” I playfully jab.
She teasingly bumps into me again, this time swaying my figure a little more than expected, prompting me to wrap my arm around her waist to latch my hand onto her hip to assist in keeping me upright. My reaction is instant yet removing my grip once it’s landed is reluctant. Having her tucked tightly against me feels like all the pieces in life are right where they’re supposed to be despite the fact that I know those same pieces will never really belong here.
Or get to stay here.
That I’ll never do anything that could earn them the right to be here.
I begin to pry my fingers away only to be met by her body inching towards me.