Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
She's different than I assumed from the first time I looked at her walking along the beach.
She isn't demure.
She's beaten down. She's fake.
It's the eyes that tell me the truth. It's the way they look soulless even as she smiles. It’s reminiscent of the smile of the man that walked away with the tray of champagne.
She doesn't want to be here anymore than he does.
She's not having a good time.
The only thing that woman is looking forward to is getting away, going to bed, and going to sleep, only to have to get up and do it all over again tomorrow.
She laughs like she wants to be here.
She smiles like she's enjoying her time, but she's not.
I don't feel at all hypocritical for making these judgments about her.
She did it to me first with the assumption that I wasn't worth a second of her time earlier today.
I would have left it alone.
I would have left her alone, but she wasn't interested in civility. She was quick to turn her nose up and walk away.
She'll learn after tonight.
She'll realize the mistakes she made and hopefully after tonight, she'll learn to never make the same mistake again.
I'm normally the type of man that considers himself live and let live.
I don't get involved in other people's lives.
I don't stick my nose where it doesn't belong.
I don't cause unnecessary problems.
I'm easygoing.
Earlier today just hit me the wrong way.
I won't be able to settle, to calm myself, to sleep, until I do something about it.
She seems like the type of girl that needs her life shaken up a little bit, and, lucky for her, I'm just the man for the job.
I take a sip of my champagne as I walk past a woman who opens her mouth to greet me. I don't want to be noticed. I don't want to be remembered.
I know coming here is a stupid idea. I know nothing good will come out of tonight, but I also know myself enough to know, I can't just walk away.
It'll eat at me.
It will fester.
It will cause problems in my daily routine, and that's what pisses me off.
It pisses me off that she has the ability to affect me in any type of way, and I hate that about myself.
I hate that she has the ability to get under my skin.
I hate that I'm in a tuxedo, in a stuffy ass room, despite the front wall being open to the beach.
I’m not exactly a bad guy.
Well, that’s not true. I’m not a good guy, but for the last several months, I’ve been saving people… for a price, of course.
Then again, I will also kill someone for a price.
Killing for a price was the old game. I've changed tactics, and it's not really because of morals.
I've discovered that people pay more for someone they love. People pay a higher price for a rescue than they’re willing to pay for revenge against someone who wronged them.
Maybe I'm a piece of shit for switching from assassin to rescuer, but I'm still able to get blood on my hands either way, so I consider it a win-win situation.
I continue to watch her, wondering what she's going to do next, when she smiles and speaks to the woman she's been standing near for the last couple of minutes before walking away.
She’s the star of the party, although I have no illusions that this event is for her specifically. It seems like everybody wants a piece of her time.
Are they chipping away at her? Are they taking tiny bits and pieces that will eventually leave her with nothing? You can’t tell it by looking at her. Each fake smile is just as vibrant as the next one she gives, even after being stopped five times on her way across the room.
She walks up to a man that looks familiar to me, but I can't place him, and that annoys me as well.
I'm usually really good about knowing where people are from, about knowing who they are, what kind of danger they pose to me or if they're even a threat at all. This man is throwing up a flag, but I just can’t pull his information up.
I once again blame her for having me so distracted.
There's a younger guy there, and I watch frozen in place across the room as he lifts her hand to his mouth and presses his lips there. It shouldn't annoy me. I’ve seen several men press their lips to her skin, and it didn’t cause such a visceral reaction as this last one does.
Is he the type of man she wants—a stuffy asshole in a tuxedo with an over-bleached smile?
I can guess he's a politician, but if we weren't in a classy hotel with red, white, and blue decorations everywhere, I could also easily assume he's a car salesman or an insurance salesman and be just as right as guessing that he's a political candidate.