Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
“I guess we should go say hi.” Grace appears like she’d rather vomit in her own mouth than do so.
I don’t particularly want to kiss the ring of the Mary Sue who cried on her balcony and gave me the stink eye, but I also don’t want Grace to whine about me not being a team player.
We approach the Ashcrofts as much as we can. Women are flocking around Winnifred, demanding her cookie recipe, while Paul possessively wraps his arm around her. Grace shoulders her way into their sphere and air-kisses Paul’s cheeks.
“Hello there. How nice to see you two.” She moves on to kiss Winnie’s cheeks, squeezing her arms. “Why, you look stunning, Winnifred!”
She does not think this woman looks stunning, with her tacky high street dress and the striped heels she probably got on sale at Walmart.
“So do you, Grace.” Winnie’s smile is genuine and sincere. “You look like you could be in a movie.”
Maleficent, maybe.
“This is my stepbrother, Arsène Corbin. We do a lot of business together, so we’ve grown quite close in recent years.” Grace motions to me like I’m an auction piece in a fundraising ceremony. I smirk. The overexplaining always gives her away. If she simply introduced me as her stepbrother, maybe half Manhattan wouldn’t be whispering behind her back about my fucking her on the reg.
I reach to shake Paul’s hand. He beams. “Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Corbin. How’s life outside of the trading world?”
“As unfulfilling as life inside it.” I withdraw my dry, rough palm from his sweaty one. “I keep busy, though, investing in more tangible assets.”
“Yes. I heard. You purchased a delivery and freight company, didn’t you?” Paul strokes his chin. “Very smart, in an era where online shopping is booming.”
He looks like the human answer to oatmeal. Privileged, bland, and boring. I’ve chewed through enough men like Paul in my life to know his aftertaste. He is the kind of guy to cheat on his wife with his secretary as soon as she hits her midthirties. The sort of man who keeps tabs on men like me to see what we’re doing, where we’re investing, in order to get ideas for himself.
“This is my wife, Winnie.” Paul kisses the petite woman’s shoulder. She turns her full attention to me, and finally, I can see it. The reason Paul decided she was worth more than a night between the sheets. She is, objectively speaking, radiant. Her skin is rich and glowing, her eyes bright and curious, her smile infectious and reassuring. She is the kind of woman people say lights up the room. Grace, by contrast, is the kind of woman who makes the temperature drop to arctic level anywhere she enters. My heart included.
Fortunately, Winnifred’s brand of girl next door doesn’t appeal to me.
“Hello!” Winnie flings her arms around me in an inappropriate half hug. Either she doesn’t know how to hold a grudge or she doesn’t recognize me from the balcony.
I step away from her embrace immediately. Hopefully she is not carrying any cattle diseases.
Paul snickers, obviously finding his wife’s lack of formality adorable. “Where’re your seats, Langston-Corbins?”
“Says here fifteen and sixteen.” Grace holds up our invitation cards.
“We’re nineteen and twenty, so I guess you’ll have to tolerate us a little longer,” Paul says brightly.
Whoopee-fucking-yay.
As the evening develops, so does my suspicion that Winnifred is, in fact, knocked up. She doesn’t touch a drop of alcohol, opting for sparkling water all night. She doesn’t enjoy the cold meats platter and stays away from those puffing on vapes and cigars. Her frequent trips to the restroom also make me wonder if there’s someone cozily napping directly on her bladder.
Grace is busy sticking her tongue in the right people’s buttholes. Figuratively speaking, fortunately. She is discussing work with Chip, Paul, and a guy named Pablo, who is a head trader. The three men try to lure me into talking shop, but I dodge politely. As all exotic creatures, I do not particularly want to be poked through the bars of a cage with questions about my insider trading accusations. And I’ve no doubt everyone here would like to hear about what I did to only get slapped on the wrist.
“Not the bragging type, ah, Corbin?” Paul nods understandably after yet another laconic answer from me about my preferred retail stocks. “Winnie’s the same. She doesn’t like to speak about her job at all.”
“That’s because I don’t currently have one.” Winnie takes a sip of her sparkling water, her cheeks tinting pink.
I turn to face her. A flicker of interest ignites inside me. She does more than play housewife? That’s a refresher.
“What do you do, Winnifred?”
“Graduated from Juilliard this year. Now I’m just . . . between auditions, I guess?” She lets out an embarrassed laugh, her southern drawl almost comic. “Can’t say I’m busier than a moth in a mitten. It’s hard, making it in the Big Apple. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?”