Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Fuck me,” he mumbled under his breath. “Fucking fuck me.”
Pretending not to hear him, I took his reaction as yet another good sign for my date, non-date. After pouring him a glass of wine and topping myself off with a heavy hand, I set his in front of him on the bar dividing my kitchen from the living room. “So, how’d the rest of your afternoon go?”
Twisting the base on the counter, he spun the stem of the glass between his thumb and his forefinger but didn’t take a sip. “Okay, I guess. I got a call from an investigator I hired to look into Jonathan.”
I tugged at my earlobe as though the audio had deceived me. “I’m sorry. Did you say you hired a private investigator? In Clovert?”
“Technically, he’s out of Chicago, but yeah. If Jonathan is pulling this kind of shit on you and your family, I’m sure he’s done other stuff too. We prove he’s a crooked cop and he’ll lose his badge. If we’re lucky, he could spend a few years behind bars. But regardless, your charges will get dropped and he won’t be able to target you anymore.”
I blinked, my lips curling up sardonically. All of it sounded great. Like great-great. Better than great. But there was one, teeny-tiny problem.
“Are you crazy? I can’t afford an investigator. Especially not one out of Chicago. I make Clovert money, Cam. Bad Clovert money at that. I know I told you about my rainy-day-slash-Louboutin fund, but I think you have vastly overestimated the contents of the account. And now that I’ve been suspended from work, the rainy day might turn into a rainy year. Truthfully, I don’t even know if I can afford you. I was planning to discuss a friends-and-family discount tonight after I thoroughly plied you with food and alcohol.”
“Nora, relax. I’m not expecting you to pay for anything.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, and had I not been working myself into a frenzy, I would have smiled at the way his gaze dropped to my boobs. “Then who is? I don’t know if you remember or not, Cam, but handouts are not my thing. Especially not from you.”
His head snapped back as if I’d slapped him. “Why especially not from me?”
“Because that’s not who we are. We’re give and take. You bring a sandwich. I bring a sandwich. You already dropped everything, flew down here, and are doing your best to dig me out of this mess.” I walked around the bar and stopped in front of him. Hooking my pinky with his, I swayed our arms back and forth. “I appreciate you being here more than I can ever express, but I can’t in good conscience let you pay for an investigator too. You’ve already brought a sandwich. A big one. Like one of those yard-long submarine sandwiches that I’m going to be eating for the next month. It’s my turn.” I glanced over my shoulder at the smorgasbord of food splayed across my counter. “Good news, you’ll probably be able to eat on it for a month too.”
“I can see this,” he teased. “But what if my dad wants to bring a sandwich?”
I did another round of the slow blink. “Your…dead dad?”
Releasing my finger, he stepped away, plucking his wine from the bar as he went. “Yep, that’s the one.” He walked over to my tan microfiber sectional that Thea had sold me for a steal when she’d moved and sank down right in the middle, crossing his legs knee to ankle. It was almost as sexy as the veins. “When he died, I inherited a good bit of money. My mom and I went round and round about me taking it. I have no idea why she was surprised. I’d refused to take a single penny from them when I went off to school, but she was livid when I refused an inheritance. She yelled at me that if I didn’t take it she was going to give it to Jonathan’s charity in Josh’s name.”
“Shut. Up.” I walked over and sat on the cushion beside him, careful not to touch him again despite my nearly constant desire to launch myself into his arms.
“I’d never snatched a check so fast in my entire life.” He took a sip. “My dad and I had a complicated relationship. He wasn’t abusive—at least not physically the way yours was. But he did a number on me trying to force me into this perfect mold he had in his mind of who his son should be. Square peg, round hole and all. It didn’t matter what I did. He always viewed me as a failure, and it took a long time for me to figure out that maybe I wasn’t the part that was messed up.”
I inched closer until my knee bumped his thigh. “He was a fool. Your square peg is better than his round hole any day of the week. And he missed out by being too damn stubborn to open his eyes.”