Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
My bedroom wasn’t this tidy. Or fancy. Every piece of furniture was of some dark wood, a stark contrast to the cream-colored walls and beigey stone floor.
Holy shit. I’d given him no choice but to take me home with him when I’d refused to tell him my address. Because apparently you didn’t give that to strangers. But going home with one was okay? I was a fucking idiot. I’d crossed so many lines. And I remembered it all. Why did I remember? I didn’t wanna remember.
I swallowed a bout of nausea as I scanned the floor for my clothes. That was how I noticed the door next to the large bed. It had to be a bathroom. At some point, I’d shed all my clothes and left them in a trail into the bathroom. Man, I hoped he hadn’t been around to see that.
I picked up my clothes on my way into the bathroom, where I quickly decided to stay for a while. Hot damn, a shower for two. I wasn’t going to make myself at home—I’d already done that too much—but I needed to get rid of any traces that revealed I’d inhaled a bar last night.
There were actual dispensers in the shower for shampoo, body wash, and conditioner. Like at some hotel.
And the fluffiest towels…
Yeah, I was gonna end up taking a long shower. I couldn’t face Mr. Abrams like this. I had shadows under my eyes, my hair was a mess, and let’s not discuss how I smelled. I couldn’t show up at dance rehearsal like this later.
Spare toothbrushes under the sink, thank you, thank you.
Okay, a plan. I needed a plan. Once I was done here, I was going to apologize profusely, make it clear that I would totally understand if he fired me, and then I’d call an Uber, go home, and put together a gift basket that screamed I’m sorry.
Embarrassment was one thing, and everyone made mistakes. But I’d gone way too far. I felt ashamed, and I might actually need a good cry as soon as I got home.
How the hell did I open this ancient block of a wood door—oh, it was a sliding door. All right. I swallowed my nerves and left the guest room. I assumed it was a guest room anyway.
The stone floor continued outside the room, and I could veer left and right along a hallway or go straight ahead, where it opened up to reveal a large kitchen with a priceless view of the ocean. No, not priceless. There was definitely a set price tag on this address. Mr. Abrams had an actual beach house in Santa Monica. That was a whole other level of rich.
He liked his cream-colored floors and walls, combined with the same dark wood I’d seen in the guest room. Maybe walnut. Along with lots of spotlights and natural light. The patio doors went along the entire length of the house, as did the patio outside.
The weather fit my mood. Overcast and foggy.
I spotted him when I was just a few feet into the kitchen. To the right, past a kitchen bar, was a dining area and then a sitting room. He sat at the kitchen table and looked like he’d just walked out of a Nespresso commercial with George Clooney.
Not a hair out of place. Suit pants, a light blue button-down that made me acutely aware of the wrinkles on my own shirt—hell, he even wore shoes. A small cup of coffee or espresso, the paper he was reading, and one leg folded over the other. Nespresso Daddy. That was it. He was a Nespresso Daddy.
I cleared my throat and didn’t come closer.
He glanced over at me and put down his paper. “Good morning, Parker.”
“Morning, sir.” Fuck, I was seriously nervous. I wasn’t used to that. My stomach knotted into a tight mess, and I hated it. “I, uh…I wanted to apologize before I get out of your hair. My behavior last night was…” I shook my head, struggling to find an adequate word. “Obnoxious.” Good enough. “I’m very sorry if I made you uncomfortable, and I wouldn’t blame…” I trailed off when I heard the doorbell.
Mr. Abrams held up a finger and got up. “That should be your breakfast. I expected you to sleep till noon, but this is good. Now we won’t have to reheat anything later.”
He passed me on the way to the door, and I was just dumbfounded. At a complete loss. He’d ordered me breakfast?
“I understand if you wanna poison it,” I blurted out.
He threw me a strange look over his shoulder, as if I was acting weird, then continued toward the door.
He was the weird one right now. And while he was out of sight, I did my best to tuck in my shirt and smooth down the fabric. I ran a hand through my hair too, in an attempt to tame it.