Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
I took one last deep breath and finished my champagne.
At least the travel was nice.
Hell, it was more than nice. I couldn’t say I’d ever taken a business trip on a private plane. The only thing to make it better would have been Kent on the plane with me. He would lean in with the intention to watch the city skyline come into view but end up getting distracted and kissing up my neck.
God, I missed him.
“Mrs. Kent,” the steward said from beside my seat. “Sorry to startle you.”
I’d been so engrossed in imagining Kent there I hadn’t noticed the man’s approach and almost jumped out of my chair. With my hand to my chest, I swallowed back the scream and turned to find him holding out a large white box with a red bow.
“I was told to give you this a bit before we landed.”
“Okay…” I took the box slowly, like it may have contained a bomb.
Had Kent set this up?
Why?
Did he feel bad?
Was it an oversized box filled with divorce papers?
Oh my god, just fucking open it, my inner voice reprimanded.
I waited until the man left before gently tugging one end of the ribbon until the whole thing came apart, falling open to reveal a clean white lid waiting for me.
“Don’t be divorce papers,” I pleaded, slowly lifting the top. “Don’t be divorce papers. Don’t be divorce papers.”
With one last deep breath, I tossed the lid aside. White tissue paper folded over dark items below. I peeled them back to find a black skater skirt and a white button up. Underneath that were simple white panties and a matching bra. The lace hinted to sex while the full coverage screamed innocence.
And underneath all that was a pair of sinfully red pumps and a simple note.
Wear it now.
- Alexander
Alexander.
I ran my finger over the aggressive signature.
Not Kent, but Alexander.
Looking over the clothes, my mind whirled with possibilities. Did he want to do a video chat? Photos?
I didn’t know, but one thing was clear—it hadn’t been divorce papers.
The bright lights of the city flashed by, but I barely saw any of it. As much as I wanted to see the hotel with Kent by my side, I was more desperate to get to my room and find whatever surprise he had waiting for me.
I’d tried calling him when we landed, but it went straight to voicemail, prolonging the wait.
The anticipation left me fidgety, and I fingered the plain hair tie around my wrist. I’d discovered it at the bottom of the box, and I knew it was there with the intention for me to pull my hair back, but I was feeling feisty. So, I’d slid it on my wrist, smiling at the thought of his reaction when he saw my hair down around my shoulders.
“We’re here,” the driver announced.
We slowed to a stop, and I looked out at the stone façade of the historic building. I’d seen a million pictures, but nothing did it justice. It was the perfect blend of historic architecture amongst the modern city. I stepped to the curb, surprised to find a bellman standing in front of the glass doors with a lit-up lobby behind. People walked around with drinks in hands while others stood at the front desk talking to the concierge. The place almost looked…open.
But that didn’t make sense. They weren’t supposed to open for another two months. I tried glancing through the other windows to get a better look, but the curtains were pulled shut, only hinting at the lights beyond.
“Miss,” the bellman called, snapping me out of my curiosity.
I followed him in but barely saw any details. I barely heard the click of my heels against the marble floor. I was too busy trying to figure out what was going on. He led past the lounge to the restaurant, where we were greeted with soft music and the low hum of conversation from a decent amount of patrons.
Was Kent having a soft opening? Was that what this was? Why didn’t he tell me?
“Enjoy your meal, Miss. Mr. Vought will take you to your seat from here.”
I watched the bellman go with wide eyes, trying to decide if I should make a run for it with him, like he was my only way out from this twilight zone.
“Miss Witt. Let me show you to your table.”
“It’s Mrs. Kent,” I corrected, finally facing the host.
“Hmm,” he hummed, dragging his finger down a list. When he looked up, a wave of déjà vu hit me. I’d seen those gray eyes before. “It says Miss Witt right here.”
He looked so familiar, but I couldn’t place where he was from. “Do I know you? Did Mr. Kent hire you? Maybe you can tell me what’s going on here.”
“Umm, I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t think we’ve met. As for what’s going on, I’m just trying to seat you at your table. Your party is waiting.”