Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Some exceptions were good.
Samantha had bought trinkets based on the price tag. If something wasn’t expensive, it wasn’t worth putting on display. It was why our refrigerator door was empty, when it could’ve been filled with Lily’s drawings.
I made my way down the hallway, then downstairs, where I could almost smell freedom. Samantha was in the kitchen, and I’d rather not speak to her. We had nothing to say to each other, and she already knew she just had to call me if Lily needed anything. It didn’t matter if it was a glass of water in the middle of the night; I’d bought a condo nearby for a reason.
I cleared my throat in the hallway and rustled a bit with my keys, just to give her a chance to say something if she insisted, but perhaps she was done too. She didn’t say a word, so I walked out of the house and headed to my car.
I blew out a breath.
Let this ordeal be over soon. I couldn’t be more accommodating in the divorce proceedings. I was letting her keep the house, a generous portion of my private wealth; she could live on the way she had during our marriage for years to come.
To be honest, I wanted her happy with the divorce, because it would affect how she treated Lily. Samantha adored our daughter but handled Lily’s challenges poorly. She wasn’t a hands-on type of mother. She wanted to be there for the good times and let someone else take care of the “problems.”
It’d made me resentful.
I drove back to my place and glanced up at the building. Part of me hadn’t processed that I’d actually broken free. The house I was parked in front of looked much like all the other buildings in Georgetown. Old, narrow, far from the high-rises across the river. Four stories, the top one being all mine now. No more going to bed in a townhouse where I was nothing but a meal ticket.
At the same time, this wasn’t home yet. My new place was a construction site, and I felt out of place. The kitchen and my bedroom were done. The rest…made me consider checking in to a hotel every single night.
Instead, I got out of my car and headed for the entrance. With or without a sense of home, this place was mine and Lily’s. Here, we were going to build a future. Here, we were going to plaster the refrigerator door with drawings.
My phone buzzed as I made my way up in the elevator, and I wondered if it was Samantha. Maybe Lily needed something. Maybe my ex-wife-to-be wanted to lash out at me for some reason.
I did a double take at the name that flashed on my screen.
Kingsley.
And his message made me swallow hard.
Still thinking about my cock?
Goodness. Heat and embarrassment filled me. Why was he texting me? He was back together with Tate. Why did he assume I’d added his number to my contacts? It was a bit conceited! We’d only exchanged two messages the morning after we’d met. He’d wanted to know how I was doing, which I found sweet and thoughtful, and he’d all but ordered me to call him immediately if I started to feel bad about what’d happened, which I found…incredibly sexy.
He was incredibly sexy. So rough around the edges and untamed, yet composed and prudent. Kingsley had a wild beast buried within, and he had it well contained. That was my impression of him, both from the evening we’d spent together and the countless anecdotes Tate had regaled me with.
I unlocked the door to my place and nearly stumbled over two buckets of paint. The floor was covered in paper after the painters had started working on the hallway and the living room today.
Unsure of how to respond to Kingsley, or if I should reply at all, I pocketed my phone for now and tugged at my tie. In the kitchen, I flicked on the light and grabbed today’s dinner that Alexandra had stopped by with, and I placed the container in the microwave.
My assistant deserved a raise. I’d deal with that tomorrow. It wasn’t in her job description to make sure I ate every day.
As I waited for the food, I retrieved my phone again. I had to reread the message.
Still thinking about my cock?
So what if I was, I wondered defensively. Why on earth was he asking me this?
Every answer I could give him would be damning. If I were honest and told him yes, I’d once more be the worst friend imaginable to Tate, whom I was studiously avoiding at the moment. The second he’d told me he was finally back with Kingsley, I’d gone through a range of emotions—from relief to jealousy, from happiness to guilt, from a feeling of “This is right” to resignation.