Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Fine,” I exhale tiredly, “but make sure you send someone to help me unload the bags.”
“I’ll do my best.” He grabs a pen from behind his ear and scribbles something down on a notepad. “Kinda short-staffed this week.”
Just my luck.
When I step out of the store, the vintage Mustang is still there. Shane Hughes is still that one word in The N.Y. Times crossword puzzle I can’t figure out for the life of me, an annoying mystery begging to be solved. One that makes me hot and sweaty even though the last thing I need is to get hot and sweaty over anyone, let alone a man so out of reach he may as well be a mirage.
I won’t allow myself to like him because I’m not in the self-harm business. That would be inviting a world of disappointment to waltz right in. But having him play the lead character in all my dirty fantasies isn’t out of the question. In fact, it’s the perfect solution. And I have the material taking up a lot of my hard drive already.
Naturally, I go looking for him because my interest is piqued and I’m a glutton for punishment. I don’t have enough to do that I need to add stalking to my list. On my way to The Local Cup to grab a latte, I walk by an outdoor restaurant and catch sight of the mirage himself out of the corner of my eye. He’s impossible to miss with his dark salted hair, tan skin, and sharp angular features. Even the scruff covering the lower part of his face can’t hide his near-perfect bone structure or the semi-full lips. If he fails as a writer, he can always get a job as a professional lip model. If there is such a thing.
That’s when I notice he’s not alone. He’s having dinner with a woman. And not just any woman––a drop dead gorgeous one with a perfect figure. Her long black hair is silky. Her eyes are equally dark and almond shaped. Her cheekbones are high and her mouth heart shaped.
If I were to guess, I’d say she’s Native American, but who knows. Whatever she may be, together they make every other power couple look ordinary.
I never even considered whether he was married or engaged. Huh, that’s weird. He doesn’t wear a wedding band, but that’s not uncommon these days. And I am one-hundred percent getting lover vibes from these two.
Hello, disappointment, my old friend. I feel let down even though I have absolutely no right to feel anything. Part of me is glad I got to witness it, though. It’s another reminder that as fun as fantasies are, they’re best kept as fantasies.
She brushes away a tear, clearly upset and on the verge of more. Reaching across the table, she takes his hand. He squeezes it and reaches across with the other, wiping another tear away on her stunning face. This woman makes suffering look sexy. I knew I was way out of my league.
I’m so absorbed in watching this drama play out that the sound of my cell phone ringing startles me. Frazzled, I hit accept without checking who’s calling.
“Is there a reason I haven’t received any of the pictures and videos I expressly asked for?”
Bloody hell… Cruella.
“Um… who’s this?” I say, trying to buy time. Cupping my ear to hear better, I ditch the coffee plans and head for the pickup truck.
“You know who this is so don’t play games.”
“Mrs. Izkov?” My voice is hitting that strange high note again, and fear is chum to people like Cruella. I physically cringe.
“Miz. It’s miz. But that’s not why I called, is it?”
“Right. The pictures. Yeah, we’ve been really busy taking care of the animals… and… you know, Aidan has been working so hard that we just… forgot.”
I mean, is she going to buy this steaming bag of lies? Probably not. Why am I even protecting this lazy you-know-what is the real question. If anyone deserves to be thrown under the bus, it’s Aidan. But some corner of the non-cynical part of my psyche still believes he just needs time to see the error of his ways. Mona really is rubbing off on me.
“Do I strike you as some kind of an idiot?”
“No. No, you do not,” I swiftly answer. I won’t mince words, this woman legit scares the crap out of me and not much does anymore. I certainly don’t need to make an enemy out of her.
“Good. Because I would hate to give you the wrong impression. I want pictures and videos. You will send them starting tomorrow.”
“I can do that,” I say, nodding at no one. After which, the line drops.
The feed delivery truck shows up at two o’clock on the nose the following day. That’s the good news. The bad news is that the driver is alone and I have to unload an entire pallet of feed bags. No use in whining about it so I grab the dolly and get to work under the broiling August heat.