Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
But he’d started to feel like mine.
It was like the past, the present, and the future conspired to bring me exactly what I needed, then changed their minds.
I forced my eyes open, begging the pain and humiliation to go away with each blink.
And they did, replaced by shock as I realized for the first time where I was—the guest room I usually occupied.
My room.
I brought my fingertips to my lips. “Oh, Zach.”
Presents dusted every inch of the room. Every corner. Every piece of furniture. Every thread of the carpet. A sea of fancy boxes and bags. All wrapped and tied with golden foil.
He remembered.
He remembered my birthday.
Unless… it was Ari?
But it couldn’t be.
Ari didn’t know Zach’s address. And no one else in this world cared enough.
Wiping at my eyes and nose, I treaded to a mountain of boxes and picked one up, tearing the wrapper apart. A Chanel box materialized beneath the shiny paper.
I opened it, discovering a pair of sneakers. White calfskin with the signature logo embroidered in black. My brows slammed together.
I picked another box and opened it.
Tory Burch sneakers. Camel-hued.
Another box—Prada this time.
Silver Golden Goose.
Pink Balenciaga running shoes.
Burberry low-tops.
Dior high-tops.
Custom Louboutin fencing footwear.
He’d filled my room with every designer shoe possible—all comfy, all shoes I’d actually wear.
It was sweet, and thoughtful, and utterly enraging. Because now, more than ever, I didn’t want to feel like a charity case.
Each box mocked me, reminding me of the gap between us. Of how poor I was in comparison to him. Of the tattered shoe I’d left behind the day of the ball.
I may be Cinderella, but Zachary Sun is not my Prince Charming.
Without further ado, I began collecting the shoe boxes and hurling them out the window.
Zachary Sun could buy his way into most places.
But not into my heart.
Iswiped my shelf clean with my arm, sending sculptures, special editions, and paintings crashing to my office floor with a piercing smash. “What was she thinking?”
“She was thinking that you’re engaged-to-be-married to someone else, and she doesn’t want your fucking pity presents.” Oliver sprawled over a massage table in the middle of my office, unfamiliar with the concept of boundaries. “It’s called a spine, Zach. Some people have it.”
“Why does one have to be on that woman?”
I turned to my desk screens, ripped one from its cables, and readied to hurl it out the window before remembering my staffers were currently picking up twenty-three packages of designer sneakers.
One for every year of her enraging existence.
“Because if she were like everyone else, you wouldn’t have liked her,” Oliver murmured into the face-hole of the massage table while a huge Swedish dude dug his thumbs into his shoulder blades.
I slammed the screen back down, cracking the display in three. A nice new dent graced the imported desk.
My feet thudded on the rug as I marched to the window, glaring at the mess she’d made on the lawn beneath.
The worst part was, I’d thought for sure that after Farrow realized I’d remembered her birthday—took the time to gift her things she’d actually use, gifts that also happened to be a wink to the time we’d met—she’d seek me out.
Slip into my bedroom during the night.
Practice our touching.
My fingers clawed the windowsill as I hunted for a glimpse of her outside, knowing I wouldn’t find her. I’d checked the footage of every security camera on the property, and nothing.
Nada.
Where the hell was she?
Still on my payroll, that’s fucking where.
“Steam’s coming out of your ears, bud.” Ollie chuckled behind my back. “What did you expect?”
“A professional employee?”
“She was there for your surprise engagement party. Standing next to your fiancée. After you fucked her in that sauna less than a week ago.”
“I didn’t fuck her.”
Not yet.
But I wanted to. More than anything else on this goddamn Earth, the Mona Lisa included.
“Well, still. Don’t expect the Boss of the Year award. You acted just as unprofessional.”
I turned from the window to scowl at him. “She knows it’s not real.”
“Seemed real to me.”
“I’m marrying Eileen out of necessity. Everyone but my mother knows it.”
I was going to grind my molars into dust if I wasn’t careful.
“Sorry, buddy. ‘Mommy made me do it’ is not the compelling argument you think it is.”
“You are in no position to lecture me, Oliver. Your most lengthy relationship is with your anal beads.”
“I’ll have you know—I replace them every other week to ensure high hygiene levels for my sexual partners.” Oliver sounded scandalized. “Not that I’ve been getting a lot of action recently. To be honest, yesterday I found myself running with my flip-flops down the hallway just to remember what sex sounds like.”
“You had someone over two days ago. You literally sent us pictures.”
Much to my chagrin.
“Time is subjective.” Oliver shrugged beneath the Hulk’s diligent fingers. “Point is, you earned your spot in the doghouse. Enjoy the canine snacks.”