Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Are you sure? I’m okay if you want to stay.”
“No, I want you to be comfortable.” He reaches for my right hand and smooths his fingers over mine, seeming to pause on the one next to my pinky. “I put in an order for a car since Robert is driving my mom and sisters back to their house.”
“All right.” My eyes roam over his face, and I ask softly, “Are you okay?”
He shakes his head, and I lean my head on his shoulder.
“It will be okay.” I hope it’s not a lie. I hope his grandmother is all right and that the surgery goes off without a hitch.
When his phone that I have never heard ring starts to buzz, he pulls it out and checks the screen. “Our car is here.” Standing, he waits for me to get up, then wraps his arm around my waist as we make our way through the lobby and out the hospital door.
Walking to a black car with tinted windows, he opens the back door for me, and I slide into the cool interior. He doesn’t say a word to the driver as he gets in, so I assume he already gave him the address to his place.
As we roll down street after street, I’m able to make out a few landmarks, and even though there’s a lot of traffic, it doesn’t seem to take very long before the car stops in front of what I first believe is a department store… until I get out of the car and look up, and up, and up. The building is so tall I feel dizzy, even with my feet planted firmly on the ground.
“Come on.” Roman takes my hand and leads me toward a set of glass doors.
“Mr. King, glad to see you back.” A man in a suit with a cap on his head opens the door, and Roman dips his chin in greeting before escorting me inside.
As we stop at the front desk, a pretty blonde comes out of the back room and smiles at Roman. “Mr. King.”
“Jess, this is Elora Barlow.” He smooths his hand up my back. “She’s going to be staying with me for the foreseeable future. Can you please get her set up in the system?”
“Of course, Mr. King.” Jess smiles at me. “Do you have an ID on you, Ms. Barlow?”
“Umm… yeah.” I drag my bag off my shoulder and dig out my wallet, handing over my driver’s license.
“You’re from Wyoming?”
“Yeah.”
“My family is back there.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She laughs. “Small world.”
“It really is.”
“I’m just going to pop into the back and make a copy of this really quick.” Just like she said, she heads into the back and returns less than two minutes later, handing me my ID. “The next time you come down, just stop here at the desk, and everything should be ready, so you will have full access to the building.”
“Great, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Have a great day.”
“You too, and nice meeting you.”
“You too, Elora.” She smiles as Roman starts to drag me toward an elevator.
When we get inside, he presses a button with a PH on it.
“What is PH?” I ask as the elevator begins to climb.
“Penthouse.”
Of course. I should have known that, even having never been in a building with a penthouse before.
The doors open, and we’re greeted with elegant carpet and beautiful cream wallpaper. Stepping out of the elevator, he urges me forward with a hand on my lower back, then opens a door across the hall. He holds it open while I freeze in place.
“You live here?” I breathe in disbelief, poring over a living room that looks like something out of a magazine, with a view of Manhattan out the floor-to-ceiling windows that people would pay money to see because the photos of it would be spectacular.
“I do,” he says, and I look up at him.
I assumed he was pretty wealthy, but after today, I’ve realized he has the kind of money most people, including me, could never even comprehend. I know no one who owns a private jet with a personal steward to wait on you hand and foot, a limo driver who knows you by name, or a house that overlooks Manhattan, and he has all three. “Are we going inside?”
“No,” I tell him quietly, and his fingers clamp around my waist.
“It’s just a house, Elora.” He’s wrong. This is not a house. I don’t know what this is, but it’s not a house.
“Who lives here with you?”
“It’s just me unless Clifford is around, but he and his family live in Bronxville, so he’s just here Monday through Friday.”
Hesitantly, I step over the threshold as a handsome gentleman with silvering hair wearing a nice button-down and slacks comes around the corner.
“Roman.” The quiet affection in the man’s voice doesn’t go unnoticed.