Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 178(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 178(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
I blink the sleep away, wondering how long I’ve been out when I see the time displayed on the clock beneath the television. I see a few pictures of him and his friends, one of what must be his parents, and a few things here or there in the form of decorations. The cooking channel is playing quietly in the background. I’m shocked I’ve slept this long. It’s well after two in the afternoon, meaning I’ve slept for nearly four hours. My bladder is crying loudly with the need to take care of business, and damn am I going to pay for sleeping my day away. I kick the blanket off my body while lying flat on my back. I’m not a morning person, nor do I take a nap and wake up like I’m singing in the rain. Sable got that trait as well, the perfect mix of both our parents, the take-charge personality, dealing with a few hours of sleep, somehow managing to keep her glass half full. I can’t say that I’m not jealous, because I am. I’m like my dad when it comes to being grumpy in the morning, no matter how much or little I sleep. Add to that I’m the spitting image of my mother, along with her personality, well, I’m doing the best I can.
“Ugh.” Grumbling quietly is hard when you’re used to being alone most of the time. I don’t want to interrupt Sylvester, who is nowhere around. Making the most of the time, I raise my arms, extending them above my head, and point my toes, doing a full-body stretch. Once that’s out of the way, I finish untangling myself form the blanket, sit up, and take a look around. I can’t see a door for a bathroom, so it’s time do what a woman does best—snoop. Light on me feet since my shoes were kicked off before my nap, I tiptoe through the spacious brownstone. The brickwork on one wall seems original to the building. The others are pale gray, a few paintings hanging along the long wall to what I’m assuming will lead into a bathroom. At least I sure hope it does. The tile beneath my feet is cool, making me wish I’d brought the blanket. One thing about Sylvester, he keeps his house a lot cooler than I do.
“Finally.” The first door on the right is open. I flip the switch, blinding myself, and hurriedly close the door behind me, frightening myself with how I look in the mirror. My hair is standing up in some section, and there’s a crease along my face with redness, probably from my hand. The good news is there isn’t any drool. Thank God for small favors. My blouse is completely wrinkled, a lost cause. My wrists feel much better, though. The burn cream the doctor prescribed is doing its job. Now, it's time for me to do the same thing, in ways of this hair. Even with my bladder screaming in protest, there’s no way I can’t tame this wild beast first. I pull the elastic band out of my lopsided ponytail; a few pieces are haphazardly sticking up. When I finally have it under control, I move the dark locks over to one shoulder, make quick work of a simple braid, and all is right in the world. Then I’m off to take care of the rest of my business, wash my hands, and splash water over my face while simultaneously trying not to get the gauze wet on my wrists. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Who holds two hot cups of coffee while it sloshes every which way? That would be me. I manage to make it happen, only grumbling a few times, feeling ten times better and awake, so now it’s time to find Sylvester, figure out what he’s up to and what happens next.
TEN
Sly
“Alright, keep digging, not enough to get you caught, and keep me posted.” I took the appointment Fawn was adamant I didn’t miss after she had to schedule it and reschedule it, giving me that fiery attitude when work comes into play. Kind of hard to tell her no. Especially when she was slightly dozing off, legs stretched out, my hand stroking the smooth skin that wasn’t covered by her pants. Anytime I’d move my hand in order to type a few things on my laptop, she’d moan in an incoherent way until I’d return my hand.
“Will do. Another few days, and we should have everything we need,” Wyatt says on the other end of the line, a good thing, too. The soft footsteps, the flicking of a switch, and a door shutting is all I need to hear. I wouldn’t have left the couch in the first place if it weren’t for a few emails being sent over by Wyatt in a secure network, Wi-Fi not included, needing to be a locked in directly. One thing led to another, pouring over the numbers, a few things not adding up, a quick call to Wyatt, talking over what we were both looking at and coming up with another variable. The only bad part is how we’re digging for said information, money funneling from Boston’s account into his father’s, a long history of a trust fund dwindling when it should be growing rapidly. It’s not completely above board even if Boston’s mother gave us the information of where the money is going. A dangerous game I’m playing, one that I know will pay off in the end, for everyone.