Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
That’s my girl.
“I don’t understand. What is she doing here? You’re not engaged. I was here last Wednesday. I thought we had a good time. I don’t get it.”
“Yeah, it’s a long story that I’m not in the mood to tell. It’s complicated.”
“You don’t even like her,” Veronica challenges. “You complain about her all the time.”
Harley glares at Veronica, her arms crossed and jaw set in anger. “Either leave willingly or I’ll have security remove you.”
Veronica throws her hands onto her narrow hips as she locks onto Harley. She scoffs, walking away from me to slam her hand against the button on the wall, getting into the elevator with a nasty expression on her face. Harley is next to flee. Before I can grab her arm, she blows past me, headed toward her bedroom.
“C’mon, Harley. It’s not what it looks like.”
She spins around, stopping in the center of the living room to glare at me. “Your booty call of the week came by to make sure you’re satisfied. What’s not to get?”
“I completely forgot about her,” I counter, hoping she doesn’t punch me. “I figured anyone I saw regularly would’ve read the press release and got the hint.”
“I wouldn’t assume anything, Nate. How are we supposed to make this work? How is anyone supposed to believe we’re together? If anyone saw her at your apartment, we’re screwed. How would we even explain that?”
“I don’t know… I just… I don’t know.”
She turns her back to me and marches toward her room. Before she slams the door in my face, she stops herself. “I need more time, Nate. I don’t even know what to say to you. It’s like you talk a good game, but I don’t know how long we can pull this off. I agreed to this for selfish reasons. I want that promotion. A promotion I wouldn’t have had to work hard for if I were you. I want to be taken seriously but this isn’t the way either.”
“I know how you feel.”
“No, you don’t know how I feel,” she snaps. “You’ve never had someone discriminate against you because of your sex. Everyone opens doors for you. Women fall to their knees in front of you. You have women showing up at your door like they’re Domino’s Pizza. It’s just… you’ll never understand what it’s like because you’re you… and I’m me—”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t have to be like that, Harley. We’ll be partners. You’ll be my wife. And even though you’re my future ex-wife, you’ll still be my wife for long enough to count for something. And trust me, by the time this is over, your dad will take you seriously. He’ll see how good you are. He’ll see what I’ve always seen in you.”
She bites her trembling lip. “Call me when our dinner is here. I need a minute.”
“Take all the time you need.”
Chapter Ten
Harley
I can’t believe him. My first night in his apartment and Nate already has a woman coming over for sex. What an asshole. We made a deal, agreed to the terms, and I was hoping he would keep his word.
I left Los Angeles less than twenty-four hours ago, and I miss the city already. Southern California is nothing like Philadelphia, with its rainy, overcast days.
I miss the sunshine and Willow.
I miss all of the comforts of my home.
Philly is where I grew up.
But it’s no longer my home.
I said goodbye a long time ago.
Marrying Nate means giving up my home, my friends, and the man I was hoping could be the start of a new future. Now, I have to put Kevin in the rearview mirror. I have to tell him it’s over, and I don’t want to let him go. I don’t think Nate fully appreciates the situation in the same light. He thinks this is our fresh start, our chance to be friends again.
And he’s not entirely wrong.
After I finish stuffing the last of my clothes in drawers, the doorbell rings. This time, I hope it’s the food and not some trashy whore. Where did Nate even find her? She was younger than me, and of course, she was blonde. Now that Callie pointed it out to me, I’m starting to notice Nate has a type, and they kind of look like me, which is weird.
“Harley, food is here,” Nate calls down the hall.
I stroll into the dining room, where Nate has laid out a plate of chicken cacciatore for me and a plate of chicken parmigiana for him. An assorted basket of breads sits at the center of the table. The scent of olive oil and garlic assaults my nostrils, and I lick my lips at the delicious aroma that wafts through the room. Nate ordered from my favorite Italian restaurant. I guess he wants me to feel at home.
I take my plate to the opposite end of the table, the farthest possible from Nate.