Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“No. I didn’t think that. I mean, I wouldn’t have put it past you. Maybe I ruined it. I don’t know. I’m sorry I just got up and left. I’m like, really, really hungry, and I think it impeded my judgment. But I don’t want to go back in there. I really hope Janice didn’t see me. I’ll never be able to make a reservation there again.”
“Maybe we should find a new place. Clients are probably getting tired of the same thing all the time.”
Sutton’s eyes narrow. “Uh, I know a good burger place. But it’s nowhere near here.”
“Don’t worry. The car’s fast.”
“I know. And you’re not driving it.”
Now it’s my turn to do a double-take. “No. No way. You drive stick?”
“Ha! No. Not that kind. I think sports clutches are horrible. I’ve heard they are, and my regular standard driving is barely passable. Well, certainly not three hundred thousand dollars certified at least. I thought we could take a cab. Or, if you want, we could just go back to my place. I’d cook something for you.”
“Really?”
“I hope not. Granny would probably slip laxative or something into it to show you. I’m really voting for a burger here. Granny likes that place. I could get her one and bring it back. Shit. Wait. I forgot you don’t eat bread.”
“Maybe they have a gluten-free option.”
“They have really good fries. Or we could go wherever you want. Or nowhere. You probably don’t eat ice cream. Or anything normal.” She winks at me. “Seriously, Philippe. I know we’re not on good standing with each other right now, or at least I’m probably not with you, but I’m worried for real. If no one is telling you this, then I’ll tell you. I’ll be the bad guy if I have to be. Uhhh, even if I wasn’t already.”
“I have an idea, actually. We could go back to my house. Take a cab there. It’s not that far. I’ll get changed, and we’ll figure it out. Or you can take a chance by eating something barely edible from my fridge.”
“Is that my punishment?” She’s already reaching for her phone and punching in the number for a cab.
I’ve soaked through my shirt. I look like I just got into the shower, and my hair feels damp. I’m a wreck, she knows I don’t eat bread, and she’s telling me to get help because she can see I need it. She’s always looking after me even when I don’t want it.
Sutton Sethford might be the one person on earth who actually sees me. Not the me that I am not. Not the money. Not the company. Not all the blah, blah, blah bullshit layers and faces I have to put on every single day to hide the fact that at the heart of everything, I miss my dad, and I’m terrified of letting him down. Terrified of fucking up what he took a lifetime to build.
The fact that I think she gets it is even more terrifying.
CHAPTER 5
Sutton
Our cab ride takes about twenty minutes. They’re probably the worst twenty minutes of my life, and I feel like I’m on the verge of having a panic attack. Philippe sits beside me in the back seat. He takes up the whole thing, his knees practically jamming into his chest because the car is so small, but he doesn’t complain. Actually, he doesn’t say anything, and my regret mounts with every mile.
Why did I agree to go to his house?
Of course, we pull up to a gated neighborhood. There’s a passcode Philippe inserts, and then we’re in. The houses are all new—huge and extravagant million-dollar shacks, and by million, I mean not a single million. Most of these places probably cost four or five or more to build.
Philippe’s house is insane. It’s one of those modern things with angled roofs jutting out all over. It’s also painted a dark brown, so dark it almost looks black. There are big silver numbers on the front, at least a couple feet high. Also, it has a four-car garage. Not even kidding.
Philippe pays the cab driver with his credit card—probably the company card since he keeps the receipt and shoves it into his wallet. I follow him up to the front door, which is like twelve feet tall. It’s the biggest door I’ve ever seen. It’s dark, but the house is lit up with all sorts of lights from below the roofline. It illuminates a nicely manicured front lawn.
“It’s fake,” Philippe says when he sees me studying it.
“What is?”
“The lawn. It’s not real. It’s fake grass. I never have to mow it, and it stays green all year round.” His door doesn’t have a lock or a code on it. It has a thumbprint ID pad. Of course, it does.
“Uh, that’s really helpful when it’s covered in like five feet of snow. Or is it heated, and it melts the snow as it lands?”