Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“What the hell, Drake?” I seethe as I fish in the front pocket of my pants for my phone.
I pull up his number so I can give him shit about whoever the fuck is in my apartment.
We touched base this morning. He was about to board a flight headed to greener pastures. He’s eloping with the love of his life.
If his bride-to-be is with him, who the hell is singing their heart out in my shower?
The call goes straight to voicemail. Cursing, I hang up and try again. His voicemail picks up for a second time. I leave a message that’s simple and to the point.
“Call me back, now, Drake, or you’re fired.”
He told me he stopped juggling multiple women six months ago, but if that were the case, I wouldn’t be listening to someone trying to hit the high notes of a song I’ve never heard before.
Or she’s butchering it so badly that I don’t recognize it.
I don’t give a fuck that she can’t sing on key. I’m pissed that she’s made herself at home in my apartment.
This is classic Drake. We shared a rental house in Rhode Island when we were in college. He used to offer a key to our place and his bed to any woman he fucked who needed a place to crash for a few days whenever he flew back home to Seattle to visit his folks.
I shrug out of my suit jacket, roll up the sleeves of my button-down shirt, and head down the hallway with my phone in hand.
I don’t give a shit if the woman in the shower is important to Drake or not. He’s getting married. His fiancée will surely appreciate what I’m about to do.
The NYPD can take care of this woman since she’s trespassing on private property that belongs to me.
Chapter 2
Emma
There’s nothing like a hot shower to wash away a full day of travel. I had a missed connection and spent the last part of my cross-country journey sitting next to a toddler with a queasy stomach.
As soon as I got to my brother’s apartment in Manhattan, I grabbed a change of clothes out of my suitcase and came into the bathroom.
Excess doesn’t even begin to describe this place.
Drake has lived here for years. I’ve visited him twice before, but I’ll never get used to how breathtaking his apartment is.
Coming here is like staying in a five-star hotel.
It’s a perfect temporary escape since my life turned upside down. A few days away from Seattle will give me the clarity I need before I head home to face my new reality.
A loud rap on the bathroom door startles me enough that the bottle of body wash in my hand hits the stone shower floor with a thud.
Dammit.
Drake shouldn’t be home from work yet. I thought I had time to get ready and order his favorite pizza before he arrived.
He has no idea that I’m in New York. The last time I visited, he gave me a set of keys so I could come and go as I pleased while he was at work. When I was leaving to fly back home, he insisted I keep the keys in case I ever wanted a place to hide out for a few days. I laughed it off at the time, but now I’m doing just that.
He knocks again, so I turn off the water and grab one of the fluffy white towels hanging on the heated towel bar.
Wrapping it around me, I hold it in place while my shoulder-length brown hair drips down my back.
“Surprise!” I call out when I hear him knock again. “Guess who came to visit you?”
The door flies open.
My jaw drops.
The man standing in the doorway is definitely not Drake.
“Who are you?” I screech while I search the granite countertop for anything I can use to defend myself.
My fingers curl around the handle of my hairbrush.
“Who the fuck are you?” The man barks at me. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”
I wave the hairbrush in the air toward him. “Your apartment? This is not your apartment.”
The stranger rakes me from head-to-toe. “It sure as hell is. I’m calling the police.”
“Do it,” I challenge. “They’ll arrest you for breaking and entering. My brother owns this apartment.”
My words come out in a breathless rush because my heart is beating so hard in my chest that I’m sure it’s about to break free.
His gaze drops to his phone before it levels on my face. “Your brother? Who is your brother?”
“Drake Owens,” I say without thinking.
Why did I give up that information so fast?
“He’ll be home from work any minute, and you’re no match for him,” I continue stringing random words together that make sense in my head.
This man is taller than Drake and more muscular. I doubt if Drake could win an arm wrestle against this guy.