Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
She thought he was her truth, but he knew it was a lie.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” She straightened her back, inhaled sharply, and stood, padding to the bathroom without looking back.
The door shut, and Ian slipped on his jeans, fishing his phone out of the pocket. A string of missed messages from Max and Ames cluttered his screen. On a deep sigh, he clicked on them and scrolled through the chaos and panic.
The good news? No one’s talking about the lip-sync scandal. The bad news? The world knows a homeless woman is at your hotel. They know she has a record. They know she killed a man. They know she assaulted two of your employees.
This isn’t good, Ian.
He tossed his phone aside since the rest of her messages were nothing more than her frustration over him not responding to her or answering her incessant knocking at his door.
The toilet flushed. The faucet ran for a long time. Then Jersey opened the door to the bathroom. Her hair was a little wet in front like she washed her face. A white terry cloth robe covered her body. And a sadness resided in her eyes.
Ian sat on the edge of the bed with his hands folded between his legs. “I don’t trust Chris.” He held no hesitation or regret in his voice.
Jersey stopped halfway between the bed and the bathroom. “I don’t trust anyone.”
He tried and failed to hide his slight grimace. What had he done to lose her trust? Or was he a fool for thinking he ever had it at all?
“I think he’s telling people about you.”
She lifted her eyebrows as a cryptic grin played along her lips. “What’s there to tell? And who would he tell? He has nothing more than a first name, a disfigured body, and one friend who happens to be in Switzerland.”
“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling, a vibe I get when I’m around him. But you’re my new news story, the next chapter in my saga, and I have no clue how this happened. Do you?”
He studied her—every blink, the focus of her gaze, the curve of her spine, and the tension in her jaw.
“No.”
He nodded slowly, lips twisted, eyes unblinking. “Can I trust you?”
“No.” Her answer fell from her lips with no emotion but complete resolution.
It knocked the wind out of him for a moment.
Jersey untied the sash to her robe and slipped it off her shoulders, letting it pool at her ankles. As Ian searched for a response, she pulled on her clothes and tied her hair back into a ponytail.
“Why?” he finally asked, feeling the ache of disillusion in his chest.
She stood between his legs and pressed her warm palms against his cheeks for a few seconds before dragging her fingers through his hair. “The first time Mr. Fisher touched me—made me touch him—I cried for hours. G carried me from the basement to her bedroom. I told her how I trusted him because the lady with social services promised it was a good home and I could trust the Fishers. G told me to trust no one. Not ever. She said trust is what we do when we have no other choice. Death or trust? Go with trust, but you might end up dead anyway.”
“G sounds like a cynic.”
Jersey squinted.
He twisted his lips. “Someone who has little faith in mankind.”
“I suppose it’s hard to have faith in mankind when you spend your whole childhood with men who are anything but kind.”
Ian rested his forehead against her chest, his hands on the back of her legs, and he closed his eyes. She continued to run her fingers through his hair. Ian loved that so much he tried to keep from moving or speaking. Could a killer’s hands bring such pleasure, calm nerves, soothe souls?
Yes.
Her stomach growled. Ian ignored it. It growled again. He looked up, ending the perfect moment. “When did you last eat?”
“Not sure. On the plane. They offered me food all the time. And drinks. Everything was free. But it was weird traveling on a big plane with so many people. Not as much room to myself.”
He chuckled. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to trust her, but he liked her. He liked her in a way that made him feel more vulnerable than he’d ever felt in his life. Horrible men tried to rob her of her innocence, but they didn’t succeed. Jersey had a light, an innocence that no one could take from her.
“You’re unknowingly a plane snob.”
“A what?”
“Your first plane was a private jet, an experience most people never get. It’s the most luxurious way to travel. Really wealthy people, including ego-driven rock stars, travel that way. You flew here first-class commercial. It’s how most fairly well-off people travel. You had all the luxuries of a commercial airline. But …”