Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“I’m in the back—be out in a minute!” I shouted, kneeling down to grab a fresh stack of cardboard boxes out of the cabinet under the far counter. Footsteps echoed across the scratched wood of the floor, then I felt someone’s presence behind me in the small kitchen. I stood up, smile firmly in place, then froze.
Oh fuck.
Talia Jackson stood staring through the doorway.
Guilt and shame coursed through me, my cheeks heating.
Say something! my conscience hissed. But what? Sorry I made out with your boyfriend last night, but he kissed me first so maybe you should take it up with him? Yeah, that’d go over just great.
Cooper’s girlfriend gave me a super-creepy smile, hands tucked behind her back as she cocked her head almost flirtatiously.
“Wow, that’s a lot of chocolate,” she said, nodding toward the stack of trays on my work counter. Each metal tray held close to a hundred candies, and there were six of them. I nodded carefully, senses on full alert. “Whatcha doing?”
“Packaging them up for sale,” I said, wondering what her game was. “My courier will be here later this afternoon—he drives them to Seattle and delivers them to all my customers.”
“And you make all of those by yourself?” she asked, moving toward me. Her eyes hardened. “Lot of work. Be a shame if something happened to them.”
Oh shit.
She stepped forward, face darkening. I backed away, bumping into the stainless steel sink. Talia took another step, stopping right next to the tower of trays. Then she very slowly pulled her hand out from behind her back and raised a long, sharp knife, pointing it at me accusingly. It was one of those big survival knives, the kind that’s practically a machete.
“You and I need to talk,” she said sweetly.
My heart started hammering, eyes darting, trying to find some way to defend myself. This girl was certifiably insane or close enough that it didn’t matter. My hand bumped into an unwashed metal cooking sheet in the sink. If she lunged for me, maybe I could use it as a shield, because apparently my life was turning into a Quentin Tarantino movie. The setting was certainly right—it was just the two of us back here, and I knew for a fact these old brick walls were thick.
Nobody will hear you scream.
“What did you want to talk about?” I asked, trying to sound calm, although I heard the quaver in my voice.
“You want to fuck my man,” Talia said, wagging the knife like I was a naughty child. “I’ve seen how you watch him. I didn’t really care at first—you’re nothing but a dried-up old hag and he’s not interested, so why bother? But you stepped over a line last night and now you’re going to pay.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, swallowing. There was something about her eyes—they were intense. Too intense and bright. Not only that, her pupils were really tight. God, was she on drugs?
“Oh, you’ll be sorry,” she said, casually poking one of the chocolates with her knife. I fumbled for the dirty tray behind me, wrapping my hand around the edge. If she attacked, I’d have one chance to defend myself—I couldn’t afford to fuck this up.
“These are very pretty,” she continued, nodding toward the chocolates. “And I’m sure they’re good. Otherwise your ass wouldn’t be so fat. No wonder you don’t have a man.”
She raised the knife again, then lunged at me. I whipped the cooking tray up in front of my body, banging the hell out of my hand in the process. This was a good thing—the pain sharpened my focus. The knife didn’t hit it, though, because she’d faked me out. Talia laughed, raising a brow.
“You think that’s gonna stop me? Now listen up, cunt, because I have a few rules for you. First thing—you’re never stepping into his apartment again,” she said. I felt a rush of relief, because this meant she wasn’t planning to kill me, at least not yet. “I know he does work for you around the building. From now on, your only communication with him happens in the form of Post-it notes and text messages, got me? We’re gonna give it a week or two, and then you’re going to fire him and kick his ass out. Better think of some excuse, because if you tell him about me, I’ll come back here and slit your fucking throat. That’s a promise. Then I’ll call my brother and he’ll make your body disappear somewhere that they’ll never find it. This is your only warning. Got it, bitch?”
I nodded my head quickly.
“I’m leaving now,” she said. “But remember—talk to him and I’ll slice you. Go into his apartment and I’ll slice you. In fact, you so much as fucking blink in his direction, I’ll cut out your heart and eat it.”