Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
This is the reason I was at the warehouse to begin with. Professor Dayton owns Dayton Architecture, a leading firm in the Philadelphia area. I had a shot at a spot there for the summer, and ignored the stories about him being handsy with the interns. At least until I got a taste of it last week in a private meeting.
“Well, I’m not going to sleep with him for an internship and since I couldn’t get the photos I wanted to work on, I’m guessing it’s off the table.”
“Prick.” He zips his backpack, looks at me. “You can report—”
“Who’d believe me? He’s too well connected. Besides, I’ll find something else.”
“I disagree, but it’s up to you. You going to be okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I wave him off. “Don’t worry about me.”
He leans down to give me a hug, but I catch his sleeve when he’s about to go.
“Drew, is that all for real?” I ask. “The story about the girl?”
He looks at me for a minute, his expression becoming worried. “Nat, real or not, you can’t get involved with someone like that.”
I shrug a shoulder, break eye contact. “I’m not. It’s just a strange story.”
“I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Okay.”
I finish the last of my coffee and get up to leave. It’s already dark out and the weather report had mentioned snow, which I really hoped would just be rain, but no such luck. I put my hood up and shove my hands into my pockets to walk the six blocks home all the while thinking about what Drew told me.
The story seems ridiculous, unbelievable and old-fashioned.
Would someone really do that? Lock away a girl of sixteen? Own her? What the hell does that even mean?
Flurries quickly turning into large, fluffy flakes blanket the ground. It would be beautiful except that right now, my brain’s busy processing. I feel kind of stupid. Drew’s right. I have no business thinking anything about a guy like Sergio Benedetti. I shouldn’t even let him in if he comes back for that cup of coffee.
I’m not paying attention as I near Elfreth’s Alley. The snow’s coming down hard now and I’m rushing to stay dry. I’m digging my key out of my pocket when I turn the corner and bump right into someone.
“Oh! I’m sorry!” I think it’s one of my neighbors but whoever it is rushes past me without an apology or even an acknowledgement. I turn to watch him go. I know it’s a him because he’s pretty big. “Jerk.” I look down for my key, which slipped out of my hand. I need to get a keychain for it. It takes me a minute to find it in the rapidly accumulating snow and by the time I let myself into the house, my fingers are numb from the cold.
Pepper barks twice, lopes into the kitchen. “Hey Pepper.” I pet her, remember what Sergio asked about the locks, then force him from my mind. “Want dinner?” I ask Pepper as I take off my coat and boots. I drape my coat over the radiator, and leave my wet boots on the mat by the door. I’m just finishing scooping out her food when there’s a knock on my door.
I try to shove the first thought that pops into my head—the hope that it’s him—out. It takes me a moment to get to the door and the knocking comes again before I pull it open.
Sergio Benedetti is standing outside my door, handsome and formidable.
His smile fades when I don’t invite him in right away. “It’s snowing out here.”
I look around, let go of the doorknob and step back. The story Drew told me circles my brain.
I watch him stomp snow off his boots before stepping inside and closing the door to look me over. I look too. I’m wearing a sweater and an old pair of ripped jeans and thick wool socks.
“Weatherman was right for the first time in his career,” Sergio says. He’s studying me. He always seems to be doing that.
My mind is busy, too caught up processing what I learned today. “Are you going to keep showing up at my door like this?”
Pepper’s nails glide along the floor and I know she’ll go to him like she did last time.
He pets Pepper’s head, but his eyes are on me. “You should wear a hat,” he says, ignoring my remark.
I touch my hair, realize it’s wet from my walk home.
“Why are you here?”
“Coffee.”
“What?”
“Coffee. Remember?”
“Now?”
He looks at me like it’s the most normal thing in the world that he showed up here for coffee.
“What’s wrong with now? Besides, we never finished talking.”
“I didn’t realize we had anything to talk about. You said no strings, remember?”
“Make me some coffee, Natalie.”
“Are you used to giving orders and having them obeyed?”
He stops, seems to consider this, then answers with a grin. “Yeah, I am.”