Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 141634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“Thank you,” I call as I run over to the cab, and she helps me toss my bags into the back. I give her a quick hug. “You have a good Thanksgiving.”
“You do the same, Pumpkin.” She kisses my cheek. “This is your big holiday, after all.” She winks and steps back to motion for another taxi to pull up behind mine.
“So my mother tells me.”
My mom has been obsessed with Thanksgiving my whole life. She’s pretty crazy about Christmas too, but it’s how I ended up with the name Pumpkin and my sister got the name Cookie. Not that I’m complaining. She really did give us the kind of holidays that you remember most.
“Get her to the airport quick but safe.” Laura hits the top of the taxi, and the guy takes off.
Living in a hotel, you start to make a lot of friends with the staff. I didn't do it because of the perks. Hell, I didn't know there would be so many, but they treat me well. That will be one thing I’ll miss if I decide to quit my job.
I let out a breath and check the time again. I cannot miss this flight. Everything was booked solid, so who knows if I’ll be able to get on a later one? Plus I don't want to be delayed any longer because I want to be home.
A smile spreads across my face when I not only see that I’m making good time but I’m being offered an upgrade. I debate spending the extra fifty dollars but decide to treat myself with how hard I’ve been working. I’ve never flown first class before, and I bet it’s amazing.
I guess my luck this morning is turning around. At least I thought so, until I landed in my first class seat next to an arrogant jerk that no amount of champagne could drown out.
Chapter Two
MILLER
My brother speaks to me in Russian as the flight attendant offers us champagne, and I shake my head. I answer him back in our native tongue, and he huffs and looks out the window.
Frost doesn’t like to fly and wants to get drunk. But I prefer we keep a clear head until we’re safely back home, even if he’s annoyed with me. I don’t care. We’re only on this flight for a few hours; he can manage until we land.
This is how it is with brothers, but even more so with twins. We look identical, but we are very different in our personalities. Our mother and father immigrated from Russia before we were born and raised us in Texas.
We were born there but spent much of our youth studying abroad and building our business. Frost and I own one of the world's largest oil refineries and have production all over the world. Thankfully we are at the point in our careers that I don’t have to make Frost fly much anymore. At least not after this week.
We sold one of our largest refineries for a sum of money that made national headlines. We were the first ever to have that many zeros attached to a company, and it’s cause for celebration. So why is it that we’re both so miserable? Oh yes, that’s because we’re going home.
Our mother and father might have done the best they could for us by sending us away, because being at home with them is always hell for us. They are cold and calculated in how they speak, and there is always penance for being away for so long. My mother was never warm, nor did she possess a mother's instinct, and my father only knew how to discipline with his hands.
When Frost and I became larger than him, he stopped physically hurting us and used our mother's methods of emotional blackmail. Since they came to America, they have adopted American traditions, one of which is Thanksgiving. When our mother asked us to come, she said that she had important news to discuss, which is why we’re on the way back from Europe so soon.
Frost and I have homes in Texas right next door to one another. Maybe it’s a twin thing, but we can’t stand to be too far apart, even when living on our own. We call Texas home, but we would never confuse that with the place where our parents live. We’d planned on being in Europe for another month celebrating our negotiations, but instead we’re on a plane and dreading the reason for it.
“You know I never get to sit next to pretty women on a plane,” I hear the man in the seat in front of me slur.
I look at my watch to see we’ve only been on the plane about an hour. I don’t know how the man can be so drunk, and I look at Frost as he rolls his eyes. We both have the same thought—that the guy was probably hitting the bar before he got on the plane, and he definitely can’t handle his liquor.