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)
“We build homes to accommodate all needs.”
I bite my lip, thinking about his words. All needs? I can’t wrap my head around it. “You’re gonna have to give me more details than that. Why would anybody want this in their house? Is this a safe room?”
“No, actually the safe room is in a different room, located somewhere else.”
“Now I am really confused.”
“Not to give away too much information about the confidentiality of the resident who might buy this, but there are a lot of uses for a soundproof room.”
This sounds shady, as well. Why would anyone need a soundproof room? I need to get to the bottom of this, and something tells me he won’t give me a straight answer on it.
“Examples, please.” I give him a flirtatious smile. “It will help me write my article.” I place my hand on my hip, and I wait patiently for him to tell me what I want to hear because, ultimately, I’m a dog with a bone, and I’ll keep asking until he does.
“It can be used for a music producer.”
I lift my eyebrow, giving him a look that says yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what this room is used for. “Since there’s no equipment in this room, and I don’t see any place for speakers, I doubt that very much. I don’t even see a place to install electronics, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the system runs through this room, as well. Is it all tied to the AI system that I can’t see?”
He takes a step closer, and I take a step away, my back hitting the soft material that runs the length of the walls.
“As you said before, it could be a safe room.”
“And as you said before, it’s not.”
“Is that what you need it to be, Layla? Do you need it to be a safe room?”
“I don’t think so. I feel pretty safe right now.”
He closes the distance, and our bodies are close. I crane my neck to look at him. His eyes seem darker in this room, his pupils larger. We’re almost touching, but we’re not. “And if it were a safe room. A room to be . . . loud in . . . to scream . . . do you have a word you would use?” he asks as he leans down, his face getting closer to mine.
“Word?” I ask, my voice sounding breathless. My heart racing faster.
“A word for when a couple’s sordid fantasies become too much.”
His breath fans my face, and I think he might kiss me.
I move closer.
A sound echoes through the space, and I’m so lost in the haze of my desire that I don’t realize what it is, but Cain steps back, and I realize it’s the house alerting us that the door has been opened. Cain moves away from me, and I feel out of breath, out of sorts, and out of my mind. I can’t believe how close we came to kissing. I can’t believe how much I wanted him to.
I feel dazed and a bit confused.
My brain is in crazy chaos from this man. I feel like I’m running on a treadmill, and I can’t catch my breath, and worse, I can’t keep up with the pace he is setting.
I do take a deep inhale, willing myself to calm, and then when my heart rate starts to subside, I realize Cain has walked not just out of the room but down the hall.
Following, I listen to see what he’s doing, and when I find him, he’s having a conversation with a man I don’t know standing next to the front entrance.
He looks up, his face still stern. The expression he always makes for everyone else but me is present again.
I don’t like it.
I yearn for my Cain to be back.
He isn’t your Cain.
He isn’t your anything.
You are solely a reporter writing a piece on his project, and when you leave, he will probably forget you were ever here.
Stop, Layla.
I need to keep my head clear. No overanalyzing. No wishing for things that can’t be. This is a job.
Once I have my feelings reined in, I head to where Cain is standing.
Together, we walk out of the model home, and then as if we are strangers, we are back in the car. Both of us are silent on the drive.
The scenery is the only thing keeping me entertained since Cain seems a bit off.
The moment we shared has passed, and I don’t know if we will get it back.
When I get to the house, I don’t say goodbye, just give him a small smile and then exit the car. And he says nothing as I do. Just stares out the windshield, knuckles gripping the steering wheel. I want to ask what’s going on. I want to know what’s happening with the switch.