Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Thirteen . . . is that right? I take it like clockwork, so I know I’m good to go.
But am I right?
I come in here and pop the pill from the packet. The pills corresponding to the last few days have been popped. So that is correct. The only question is if I took them. Going crazy trying to figure out this mystery, I start ticking through the days to remind myself.
Thursday - I took the pill with a bottle of water prior to meeting Natalie at her house. That was the same day she told me she’s having a baby.
Friday - I took it before I went to the gym and ran into Elijah.
Saturday- I woke up and took it with a Diet Coke I had on my nightstand from the night before.
Sunday - I took the pill before brunch. . . Wait. Did I?
What happened on Sunday? Instead of days, I navigate through the events of that morning.
Harrison cooking breakfast.
The fight we had.
Running late for brunch.
Put the pill in the case in my bag to take when I got there—timing wise, that worked best.
I waited and had a mimosa . . . or a few.
Being stood up.
No, that can’t be right.
Staring down at the pill in my hand, I feel my stomach tense. My gaze rises, and I’m met with a ghost-white reflection. I run to check the bag I was carrying that day. Pulling the pink purse from the shelf, I open the clasp and unzip the pocket to find the tiny pill case.
I remove the case with such precision that I don’t hear a thing until I shake it. The rattle of a pill is as loud as an earthquake to my ears. Damnit.
Now I remember, I didn’t take the pill on Sunday because I was too distracted by Harrison and my mother. I return to the bathroom and pop it in my mouth along with the other to cover for the missed dose, chug some water, and then swallow them down. Relief is felt in fixing that mistake.
With all the troubles I’ve had lately, at least I’m not pregnant.
18
Harrison
“This is one of the most coveted units in the building, and from my research, the apartment is a steal.” I stand back near the kitchen island and let Lara, Kaz’s wife, take it in.
She walks the length of the wall of windows, stops to look out at the view, and then turns to me to ask, “Why are they selling then?”
“Legal troubles. He needs to liquidate fast.”
She turns her attention back to the view of Central Park. “Ah. Hence the steal, but it needs to feel right.”
“There are numerous units available in this price range. You can walk away and find another in the next building. It all depends on what you’re looking for.”
Glancing at me over her shoulder, she says, “I like this building because it feels like a family could live here. Kaz and I had modern design in our last home, but my tastes are changing. Instead of white and minimal, I want warm and inviting, kid-friendly.”
I don’t dare ask if she’s pregnant. I made that mistake once at a bar in my early twenties. I was two sheets to the wind and congratulated her. She wasn’t, and I was punched by her boyfriend.
With Lara’s arm lithely placed over her stomach, she strolls the main room and then ends up in the kitchen. “I’m hoping we can start a family soon. The tour and the hours . . . It’s been hard to find the right time.”
“I can imagine.” My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I made a rule when I started out in this business that the client in front of me deserves my complete attention. Especially when dealing with multimillion-dollar homes and the potential for hundreds of thousands in commission.
“Do you want kids one day, Harrison?” She’s not crossing any lines with me. I’m an open book, and I’ve known her for a few years. “Someday. Like you and Kaz. The right time. The right place to settle into.”
Her eyebrow arches, and she adds, “The right woman.”
I chuckle. “Definitely with the right woman.” Tatum comes to mind, but that’s jumping ten spaces ahead. I move to the stove. “Top-of-the-line appliances are included and brand new.”
“That’s nice,” she says under a soft laugh that tells me she’s onto my distraction. “Kaz loves when I cook.”
“Eating on the road must get old.”
“For him, the bedroom is most important. He sleeps for weeks after the tour. I’ll need complete blackout curtain or shades, preferably automatic, though that’s something I can have installed after the purchase. I really don’t want a renovation. I do that all day long for my job. I don’t mind minor changes, but I’d rather be able to just move in.” She snaps her fingers as something occurs to her. “We definitely need a tub to ice down his muscles. A rock star’s life is never as glamorous as people assume.”