Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Something startles me awake.
My eyes snap open, but I stay perfectly still. Listening. What was it? Did somebody get in? A glance at my phone on the nightstand tells me that’s not the case. No new alerts from the alarm system. It’s also one thirty in the morning. Mia will be asleep by now.
It must have been something in a dream. Or maybe a bat hit the window—I’ve seen them flying around at night while sitting out on the balcony. Mia was out there with me tonight, typing something on her laptop, and it was almost nice.
Except for the way she stretched her legs out with her heels on the railing. She was still wearing that skirt, too. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was doing it on purpose to get under my skin. It’s one thing to fight off cravings for her when all she’s doing is existing. When she throws herself in front of me like that, it’s another situation. Superhuman levels of self-control.
It’s exhausting. I’m so tired that I can’t believe anything woke me up.
Then again, men like me rarely sleep deeply. Not when we’re always on duty, and I always am. It doesn’t matter the time of day or night, whether I know she’s sleeping soundly and not a threat to herself. I always have one ear open.
Which is probably why I woke up. It’s not that difficult to wake up a light sleeper. Now what? I swing my legs over the side of the bed and rub my eyes before looking around the bedroom. No matter how nice it is, it will never feel like home. It would never be mine, anyway. I’m a guest here. The funny part is, I’ve saved enough money over the past ten years that I could buy a place like this if I wanted. There’s something to be said for disciplined saving, and I have been disciplined. That’s one part of my personality that’s never changed. I know how to behave myself when I need to. Besides, what did I need? I went from living under my father’s roof to living under the boss’s. Most of my expenses were taken care of.
It’s a catch-22. Something else I learned about in one of Mia’s classes—I’d heard the term used before plenty of times but never really understood it. Now, I see that’s what my entire life is. One big catch-22. I have all the money I need but no freedom to use it. Why would I buy myself a condo when I’m stuck looking after a little girl? And once the boss marries her off, he’ll give me another detail. A good one, I hope, an easy one. I think I’ve earned it.
But the fact is, no matter what job he gives me, my life will never be my own. That didn’t use to matter. I mean, what good is my life, anyway? I never had hopes or aspirations for myself. No plans, no dreams. Survival was always the thing. Pulling the trigger before the other guy had a chance to.
What’s so different now?
I get up with a groan since trying to get back to sleep would be useless right now. The idea of going down to the gym and taking a run on one of the treadmills occurs to me, and I even eye up my closet with the thought of pulling on sweats and heading down. First, I want to make sure everything is okay around here, just in case.
There’s an almost eerie silence. Only the faint humming from the refrigerator is a sign the world hasn’t come to an end. That’s how eerily quiet it is as I walk barefoot over the cold, bare floors. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to tile the entry in marble? It’s icy under my feet as I punch in the alarm code, then open the door to take a look out in the hall. Everything’s status quo. I do the same out on the balcony, making sure it’s empty and everything outside looks normal before locking the door, then arming the alarm. It must have been something in a dream that woke me up.
Before heading back to my room, I pause at Mia’s door. It’s closed, but the walls around this place aren’t exactly thick. They put marble on the floors, but the walls are paper-thin. I’m sure if I sat around and thought about it long enough, I’d be able to create one of those metaphor things they talk about in Mia’s writing class. Everything looks beautiful and elegant on the surface, but it’s thin and cheap underneath.
I turn away, but a soft moan freezes me on the spot. I hold my breath, waiting to see if I hear it again. Was it my imagination?
No. There it is again, a little louder now. I open my mouth, prepared to call her name, but before I can, I hear something else.