Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Reaching my hand out, I fling the car door open and then step out, heading toward the house.
I have to stand here and wait a few seconds before Cain walks over, because I can’t enter without him.
I still can’t believe he has a chip embedded in him. I wonder if it was painful.
“What?” he asks, and I turn my attention to where Cain is making his approach.
The sound of the gravel beneath his feet gets closer. His eyebrows are tilted, and I realize he’s asking me.
I give him the look of confusion, scratching my nose, letting him know I have no idea what he’s asking.
He lets out a chuckle. A sound I feel doesn’t come naturally to him, but it’s a beautiful sound, nonetheless.
“I was asking why you were making that face,” he clarifies.
I grimace. “I didn’t realize I was making a face.”
“Yes, there was a little line between your eyebrows as if you were thinking really hard.”
“So now you know me well enough to know my lines? It’s just a facial expression.”
“Normally, I’d say no, but for some reason, with you, yeah, I do.” Cain lifts his wrist up to the sensor board on the side of the house, and the door swings open. He moves aside so I can pass him.
“That’s rather presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”
“Presumptuous . . . That’s probably one of the nicer things people have said about me.”
“Yeah, not a lot of people have very nice things to say about you.”
He’s now standing beside me, but soon he walks in front of me and turns around to look over his shoulder, his right eyebrow raised. “Checking up on me?”
I suck in my cheeks, thinking of how to respond, and then I let the right side of my lips pull up into a smirk. “That is my job, after all.”
“That it is. That it is,” he says.
Instantly, when I walk in, I can see the difference between the models. Although also modern, the color scheme in this house has more tones of gray. This one feels more industrial.
I follow him around as he shows me the different nooks and crannies of this house he built.
He beams as he talks. His level of pride for his project is pretty extraordinary. I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody who’s had this amount of pride.
The thing is, I think most people who know Cain Archer confuse his pride with arrogance.
That’s not how I see it at all.
He’s not arrogant. He’s quiet and thoughtful. All of these things make him seem rude, but to me, he’s an introvert.
He doesn’t associate well with people. I can understand that.
His phone rings, and he holds his hand up. “Take a look around the house. I’ll follow you.”
I give him a nod, and then I set off to see what I can find. At first, I don’t see anything different in this home. A few seconds later, I’m surprised that Cain is right behind me.
I thought he’d give me space, but apparently, he’s decided against it, because as I’m staring at the wall, he’s lifting his wrist. I let out a gasp as a secret door opens, and I see that there’s actually a closet behind the wall.
I also see a safe that stretches from the floor to the ceiling.
Interesting. Small crevices and small secret compartments.
He places his phone down for a second. “We like to utilize all empty space,” he tells me and goes back to listening and speaking to whoever has called him.
I wonder who this house is built for, if it has a resident yet. Is it built for someone in mind?
As I walk, my brain wanders a million miles a minute to figure it out. That’s when I see another closet, and I wonder if this one also has a compartment behind it.
He gives me a shake of his head, telling me no, but then he takes his hand and reaches it out, and I don’t know what to do, but I allow him to take my hand in his, and then he is pulling me through the house.
He’s not speaking, but I don’t need words to enjoy the view and to understand what’s happening.
I’m sure that when he’s done, he’ll tell me, but then he opens the wall again. I walk through.
This is no small crevice. This is a room. “This room is soundproof.” His voice behind me has me jumping. “Sorry about that,” he says, and I shrug. “Always work,” he says, referring to the phone call from before.
I nod in agreement, understanding there’s always something that pops up.
“So, this is soundproof?”
He walks me inside the room and then lifts his hand up, and the door closes. The first thing I noticed is that the walls are padded. A shiver runs up my spine.
“Why would you need a padded soundproof room?” I ask.