Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
And then he was standing before a closed door, and remembering when he’d opened it without knocking before—and what he’d seen on the other side: C.P. Phalen and the blond guard. Well, first C.P. Then the guard in the private bathroom, looking like he’d had an orgasm—or three—that he’d really enjoyed on his goddamn lunch break.
Fuck.
Curling up a fist, Gus felt like a total fool as he—
The doors opened automatically, triggered by some switch in that weird modern desk C.P. used, and as the study was revealed, his eyes shot to where the woman of his dreams was sitting.
“Areyouokay?”
Three words, four syllables, the lot of it spoken on a oner as the lady of the house bolted upright from her chair.
As Gus stared across the formal room, he stalled out—not because he couldn’t remember why he had come or what he wanted to say. On the contrary, everything became too vivid.
Especially because she was wearing his fleece. Still.
Gus’s heart rate quickened. Although that was probably not good news, for so many reasons. “Ah… you got any Coke still?”
C.P. blinked, like she was translating something that wasn’t making any sense. And then she nodded. “Ah… yes. But are you sure you need to be—”
“I’ll help myself. Thanks.”
Crossing the study, a buttery soft blanket registered under his feet and he paused to look down. Sure enough, he wasn’t wearing shoes, and for a split second, he was concerned that he hadn’t noticed until now. Then again, hey, at least he wasn’t flashing her his ass because he was in a hospital johnnie. Scrubs were almost real clothes, FFS.
Over at the bar, he opened the mini-fridge that was kitted out to look like the rest of the glossy black cabinetry, and as he palmed up one of the red cans, he wondered idly what was in the rest of the compartments.
The crack of the opening was loud, and as he turned around, C.P. Phalen was back sitting down, her hand resting on a black office phone that seemed as though it might have extra powers: Landing the space shuttle if NASA ran into problems of the Houston variety. Solving pi to twelve billion digits.
Bringing back The Office for a reunion season with the full cast.
“Gunnar called just now,” she blurted as she fiddled with something under the lip of the desk; abruptly the phone disappeared, as if it were sinking under the surface of a liquid abyss. “I didn’t tell him you were… you know. I mean, he’s your new boss, so I figured you’d probably want to call him yourself.”
Or not, Gus thought as he took a sip.
“Damn, this stuff is good.”
“I keep it in there for you. In the house—and the lab, too.” She looked down and seemed not to know what to do with her hands. “What are you thinking as you stare at me like that.”
“You look like hell.”
She laughed shortly, but not at all in a ha-ha- that’s-funny kind of way. “Go figure. And you’re not exactly ready to run a marathon yourself—how are you even out of bed? Does Lipsitz know you’re up here?”
“Yeah, he does.” And that had been a fun conversation. “I’m going to leave in the morning.”
Those eyebrows crashed down as she shot a glance at him. “You’re not well enough to go anywhere.”
She was right, of course. He was on the verge of a collapse standing here on this nice rug—which he imagined, if he did go down, would offer a good cushion and wasn’t that fortunate. But the Coke was helping.
He told himself it was helping.
Okay, fine, he couldn’t feel his legs, and his entire body was not seventy percent water, but seventy percent pain impulses. His anger and his panic were like gasoline in his veins, however, and though the engine of his will was battered, it couldn’t help but turn over.
“You don’t need to worry about me from a malpractice liability standpoint,” he said. Because, hey, he’d already compromised her location to an enemy of hers. How could any lawsuit compete with that? “I advised myself it was okay to come up here—and I don’t work for you anymore, so no workers’ comp risk, either.”
She mostly hid a wince. Mostly. “It’s not safe for you outside here.”
Taking a deep breath, he heard himself reply, “It’s not safe for anyone inside here. I told them everything—” As his breath caught, he took another sip, but there was no getting anything through his tight throat. “I am so sorry—”
“No,” she cut in sharply. “You do not blame yourself. Am I clear? No matter what you said, it doesn’t matter. I’ve been a target for most of the last decade by all kinds of bad actors, and that was before you even came along. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”