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)
“Don’t get shy with me. You never need to be afraid to tell me anything.”
“When I wrote the last part before you were here, it was hard to think about it. I didn’t anticipate missing you, and I couldn’t connect when you weren’t with me. It felt vacant, hollow when I tried to sit down and write. But then when you got here, it all came back to me. I felt full if that makes sense.” He doesn’t speak, and I fiddle with my hands, trying to backtrack. “I probably sound crazy since we haven’t known each other long, but I do care about you, and having you here . . .” I feel like I’m being cut open as I try to put into words how I feel. “Having you here has made me realize how much I care, and I know you need to leave now that the article’s done, but—I wish I could keep seeing you,” I let this rush out before I lose my nerve.
He takes a deep, long breath, and my leg bounces under the table, anxiety coiling in my belly. I laid myself out, and now, I have to deal with the consequences.
“I’ll admit I’m not the relationship kind of guy. I’ve had dates and short-term flings, but I’ve never been interested in maintaining anything else . . .” His words trail off, and my heart jackhammers in my chest. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to tell me that this was fun, but it’s time for him to go. “Things with you are different, though.” My pulse becomes erratic at that. “I can’t promise you anything. I can’t promise much since we’re not in the same location, but . . .” He reaches his hand out, and I take it in mine. Then he pulls me out of the chair and places me on his lap. “I’d like to try to make this work with you.”
I curl into his chest, letting him wrap his arms around me, and I let out a breath. I realize for the first time we parted at The Elysian, I feel light, like anything is possible.
Maybe it’s his words, or maybe it’s the fact that my article has made him proud, or maybe it’s everything combined, but I feel good, and I relish in the moment.
I sit in his arms for a few minutes, but then his phone rings.
At one in the morning, who the fuck is calling him? I lift myself up from his lap, and he fishes out his phone.
Looking down at it, his once smiling face has now dropped back to the sullen look he always gives when he doesn’t like something.
“I need to take this,” he says, and then he walks out of the room, and I’m left confused and alone.
I watch the clock across the room as I wait. One minute turns to five, turns to ten. It’s an eerie feeling, waiting.
Feels like the detonator of a bomb and I’m counting down the seconds before everything blows up.
I hear the footsteps before he returns to the dining table. He crosses the space, pacing back and forth for a few minutes, but he doesn’t say anything to me. He just paces back and forth. His whole demeanor is off.
“Who was it?” I ask.
“I need to go back. Tonight. Now. Something I can’t avoid.”
“When will you—”
He lifts his hands up to stop me. “I don’t know. I’ll be in touch . . . Just . . . I have to go now.”
And with that, he walks out of the room, and I’m stunned. I should go talk to him, but I am welded in place.
At the sound of the door opening and closing, my happy bubble bursts. Cain fails to say anything about returning, and I’m awash in heartbreak.
I fall forward onto my table, my hands bracketing my head. I’m completely enchanted by a man who I don’t know anything about.
This isn’t good.
These feelings I have for him aren’t good at all.
26
Layla
Three days.
Not a single solitary word from the man who said he wanted to try with me.
Just walked out the door, left me alone, and now I have to pick up the pieces of my life.
I’ve returned to writing for my own personal joy. I don’t give a damn if Mr. Walker puts me on an article about drapes or lounge chairs for your pool house. I have to get back to something that interests me to keep my mind off Cain.
I throw myself into an editorial I wanted to pitch to the New Yorker years ago but put down when I got the job at Concept and Space.
Only an in-depth and hard-hitting story would draw me away from my misery.
Murder it is!
This is the type of project that gets me excited to delve into, which is why, three days later, since I decided to throw myself into writing it, I’ve barely eaten or slept.