Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 88228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
I choose a lip gloss and apply it. I’m still in my yoga clothes, and I wish I were still at the studio. The photo would be better there.
What the heck?
New camera in tow, I head back to the studio. If only I’d thought of this earlier…but I was in the middle of best-friend drama.
It’s getting to be late afternoon, but two classes are still in session. One is hot yoga, which I hate. Sweating my ass off won’t make for a good Instagram post.
The other is prenatal yoga, also not a good look on me.
Instead, I walk into the locker room and do the post there.
Sheer lip gloss in Honey Glaze by @susiegirlcosmetics is perfect after a yoga class! #sponsored #yoga #lipgloss #susiegirl
Not the most exciting copy I’ve ever written, but I want to be done. I edit the photo quickly and post.
Okay, that’s done. Braden and I don’t have dinner plans.
I sigh.
I miss Tessa. I mean really miss her, as if I’ve lost a limb. We hardly ever go a week without seeing each other, and we usually talk daily.
It’s only been a few hours, and I feel the loss acutely.
Still in my yoga clothes, I grab my purse and the new camera. I walk along the street, shooting candids, which always puts me in a good mood.
It doesn’t today, though. Shooting photos with my dream camera isn’t helping my state of mind.
But I know what might.
Thirty minutes later, I’m outside Braden’s building. It’s Saturday, nearly dinnertime, and I have no idea if my boyfriend is even home. I inhale deeply, smile at the doorman, and walk into the building. I head straight for Braden’s private elevator and press the button.
“Yes?” Christopher’s voice over the intercom.
Good. If Christopher is home, Braden probably is as well.
“Hi, Christopher. It’s Skye.”
“Is Mr. Black expecting you?”
“Probably not. Is he there?”
“Yes. He’s on a call in his office.”
“May I come up?”
“Let me check with him.”
I look at my watch. It’s a little after four. On a Saturday. But Braden’s business doesn’t have regular hours, as I learned last weekend.
I wait.
And I wait.
Ten minutes later, the elevator doors open, and Christopher stands before me. “Come on up, Ms. Manning.”
I step into the elevator, my nerves on edge. “It’s Skye, Christopher. Skye.”
“Skye.” He clears his throat. “Of course.”
We ride up to the penthouse without saying anything more until we arrive. Penny and Sasha run to greet me, and I kneel down and accept their happy puppy kisses.
“What good girls!” I pet them both and then pull Penny into my arms. She’s a bit heavier. Soon she’ll be as big as Sasha. “Have you been good for Christopher?” I kiss her soft head.
“She’s a good pup,” he says. “Accidents here and there, though.”
“She’s just a baby. She’ll learn.”
Penny squirms out of my arms to roughhouse with Sasha.
“Mr. Black is still on his call,” Christopher says. “You may wait wherever you like.”
“Do you know how long he’ll be?” I ask.
“I don’t. Make yourself at home.”
Okay, then. I walk into the kitchen. “Hi, Marilyn.”
“Ms. Manning.”
“Please. Skye.”
She nods. “I’m getting ready to prepare Mr. Black’s evening meal. Will you be joining him?”
Will I?
“Sure,” I say. “Why not?” Then an idea pops into my head. “In fact, I’d like to cook for him tonight. Why don’t you take the night off?”
Her eyebrows rise.
“I can cook, you know.”
“I’m sure you can, but Mr. Black asked for his dinner at six p.m. tonight. Sharp.”
“That gives me almost two hours. I think I can scare up something by then.” I whisk past her and open the freezer. I pull out a bag. “Shrimp. Perfect. I make a mean étouffée.”
“Skye—”
“Please. I want to do this for him.” I open the refrigerator. Onion, check. Garlic, check. Celery, check. No green pepper, though. “I need to run to the store,” I tell Marilyn.
“What do you need? I’ll have Christopher pick it up.”
Even better. I make a quick list on my phone. “I can text him the list. What’s his number?”
I enter the digits as she gives them to me, and then I press send.
He texts back. I’m on it.
I text a thumbs-up and thank you and get back to my kitchen.
Except it isn’t my kitchen.
But tonight it will be.
Tonight, I’ll prepare dinner for my boyfriend. I’m no gourmet, but I have a decent repertoire. All he’s had so far is my leftover beef stew. We’re in a relationship. I should be able to cook for him.
Plus, it gives me something to do to get my mind off Tessa.
And to get my mind off my post from earlier. I’m not satisfied with it. It was quick, and I gave it almost no thought whatsoever.
I need to up my game.
Yeah, I’m under contract and will get paid for three months no matter what, but I’ve never half-assed anything in my life.