Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
He tries to get me to look at him, but I won’t. “Can I use this bathroom?”
“Of course.”
I clean up as best as possible, and though everything tries to race forward—the guilt, the fear, the shame—I conquer it all with forced, deep breaths. Good sex can just be good sex. That feeling in the pit of my stomach doesn’t have to take precedence.
When I’m done in the bathroom, I’m surprised to find Hudson is standing on the other side of the door, his forehead wrinkled with concern, his mouth a sharp, disapproving line. He’s cleaned himself up too. He looks perfectly put together again.
“Scarlett—”
I have a good idea of what he’s about to say—because I’ve heard it before—and due to the chance that it will devastate me, I cut him off. My laugh sounds like it’s coming from across the room, that’s how outside of myself I am.
“Don’t get soft on me now,” I tease.
His expression doesn’t loosen. He’s wound tight. He looks like he’s shouldering some huge burden. “I know that was a lot.”
I smile. “But nothing I didn’t ask for.”
He reaches out to smooth my shirt and fix my collar. Gentle, reverent touches.
“I have to get to work,” I tell him.
It feels like a petty game I’m playing with myself, to be the one to shut it down first, to nip it in the bud before he can.
He straightens and holds up a finger, remembering something.
“My mom wanted me to give you this.”
He hurries to his desk where he picks up a frame with a yellow satin ribbon tied around the middle. When he holds it out for me to take, I realize it’s one of his mother’s landscape paintings, no bigger than a piece of paper. It’s her signature style, sweeping blue skies and saturated green hills.
I don’t even know what to say.
“She painted this for me?” I almost sound troubled by the idea.
He rubs the back of his neck, staring down at it. “I’m sure there’s subliminal messaging incorporated into it somehow. The words ‘Marry Hudson’ are probably swirled into the clouds.”
I laugh and fight the urge to clutch it against my chest. “If I write her a thank you note, will you pass it on to her?”
“Of course.”
My tone shifts. “Did you ever talk to her about us? Come clean and all that?”
“I tried to.”
He sounds guilty about it.
“Hudson!”
He laughs, and I’m wholly unprepared for his boyish dimples. “She was really taken by you.”
“I told you she would be! You know she friended me on Facebook after that lunch. Wrote me a message and everything. I had to print it out to read, it was so long.”
He groans in agony. “The woman cannot be stopped.”
“I like her.”
He nods, processing everything. His gaze is down on the painting again. “I’ll break the news to her soon,” he promises.
Right.
I nod. “I guess there’s no rush. I don’t want to burst her bubble. Whenever you think it’s time.”
There’s a natural lull in our conversation, and both of us look away. Then, like we’ve rehearsed it, we look back and our eyes connect again at the exact same moment, and we laugh. We’re shy like we’re eighteen, on the cusp of adulthood, unarmored and soft. The innocence is so foreign to me. I haven’t considered before now all the ways I’ve lost this ability to feel so purely.
“I think we’ve found ourselves in a bit of a pickle.”
Hudson laughs again. “For the record, I didn’t call you into my office to have sex with you.”
“No?” I feign disappointment. “Damn.”
He studies me so intently I worry I’m telegraphing every thought. Does he see it? The truth? I’d like to know it for myself.
“What are you looking for, Scarlett?” he asks.
I wasn’t expecting the candid question.
“Me?”
What do I want? What have I always wanted?
“I’m looking to add my name to that little plaque out in the hall. Scarlett Elwood, partner.”
His eyes spark with interest. “And in your personal life?”
“I have no personal life.”
“Good.” His reply is curt, quick. “Neither do I. You know I’m the least eligible man in this building. Ask anyone. I have no heart, no head for anything outside of law. I’m a real villain, actually. Before you came, Lucy was my only friend, and I’m not sure how that friendship started anyway. I don’t want any distractions. I want my promotion and then I want to keep working. No sailing off into the sunset for me.”
“You’re a villain?”
“Don’t you see it?” He points to the painting. “Look what I did to my mom, lying to her about being in a relationship.”
“You’re a real bastard,” I laugh.
I can’t reconcile how he sees himself with how I see him. I mean, sure, no one would say he’s the most personable man alive, but he’s so warm, down deep.
“Exactly. Ask your brothers. They’ll confirm it.”