Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
His tone cuts through me.
My chin lifts, my heart beating in a well-practiced rhythm. It’s my go-to, my auto-response when I’m at work and being haggled by a judge or attorney. I don’t let them see me sweat.
I won’t let him either.
“You’re right,” I say. “I’m not stupid. What I am, however, is intentional.”
“So you’re intentionally choosing not to share anything about yourself with me?”
“In a way, yes.”
He sighs and shakes his head.
“What does it matter?” I ask. “I will be gone in five days, tops. Does it matter how I feel about marriage? Or what flavor ice cream I like best? Or … anything? No, Holt. It doesn’t.”
“Someone really burned you, didn’t they?”
I roll my eyes and look at the back of Cassius’s gray-haired head.
“Look, I don’t want to press you,” Holt says. “I don’t want you sharing anything with me that you’re uncomfortable sharing. But is it totally absurd to want to be friendly? If I’m in Chicago, we could meet for drinks. If you’re back down here, we could have dinner. Is it so wrong?”
A sigh leaves my lips well before I intend. “Why does everyone keep saying this to me?”
“Who is everyone?”
“Okay, two people,” I say with a slight smile. “You and Sienna Landry.”
“She’s a nice girl.”
“She’s nosy like you,” I say, elbowing him in the side. “Must be the Savannah in you.”
He laughs. “I won’t point out that you’re changing the topic again.”
The carriage comes to a stop beneath the sign that reads The Carriage House. I glance up and smile.
“Saved by the bell,” he says.
He stands and straightens his tie before stepping down the steps. Cassius greets him, and they chatter about the ride. Holt keeps a side-eye on me as he extends a hand my way.
I place my palm in his.
The warmth and familiarity of his grip trickles across my skin. His fingertips press against the small of my back as my feet hit the pavement.
“I hope you enjoyed your ride,” Cassius says to me.
“I did. It was lovely. Thank you.”
“Anything for Mr. Mason.” He looks at Holt and nods. “Give me a call if you need anything else.”
“Will do, sir. Have a good evening,” Holt says.
“Good night.” Cassius turns and tends to his horse.
The air is much cooler than it was when we began. The overhead clouds are a dark, menacing navy blue as we head to our cars.
We walk silently down the tree-lined sidewalk, and I wonder what he’s thinking.
Raindrops begin to fall from the sky as we make it to my car. He tugs the door open and holds it as I climb in.
“That was really nice,” I say. “Thank you for taking me.”
He studies me. Water droplets fall on his hair, making the locks appear darker and silkier. They drip onto his face and shoulders as he stands with one hand on the car door and the other on the roof.
My heartbeat thunders in my chest. The uncertainty of what he’s about to say eats at me. With each second that passes, my anxiety grows.
Is he going to tell me I’m too much trouble and that I should go? Is he going to say that my refusal to answer his questions is rude? Is he going to go back to the office and send me to his home alone?
I open my mouth to say something, anything when he speaks.
“I’m sorry if I made you uneasy by asking questions,” he says. “I find it too easy to open up to you, and it never occurred to me that maybe that doesn’t work both ways.”
I sigh. “No, Holt—”
He cuts me off with the crook of his brow. “You are absolutely right. Never compromise yourself because someone pushes.” He begins to close the door. “I’ll see you at home. Drive carefully.”
Before I can even open my mouth this time, he closes the door.
I watch him jog across the street and back to his car in the rain. Water presses against the white linen, and it molds to his frame. I see his rear lights flip on a few cars down and watch him pull away.
Still, I sit and let the events of the evening settle into my soul. After a few long minutes, I start my car and pull onto the street.
“And I thought the hardest thing would be not having sex with him,” I say aloud. “I had no idea it would be this.”
I take a right at the end of the park and head back to Holt’s.
Eighteen
Holt
The lamp on my desktop shines a warm, yellow light onto the papers spread out in front of me.
My back aches from sitting for four hours and delving deep into the Landry offer. I always work at night but never at my desk for hours on end.
I sit back and stretch my arms overhead. My muscles scream at the sudden movement. My brain, though, cherishes the opportunity to stop analyzing numbers.